Till the End of Time
by The Box
Summary: Tamriel's got problems; just ask its citizens, who keep being invaded by demons. To rectify this situation, we have a thoroughly unheroic prisoner, a geriatric grandmaster, a nice but boring Emperor, and a whole bunch of Legionnaires. An Oblivion semi-novelisation.
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: This is essentially a novelisation of the Oblivion main quest, with a few changes to the dialogue, a few sub-plots, bits of humour/depression and choose- your-own-adventure thrown in. If you don't like something, want me to change anything, find any mistakes, or even – shock! – actually like it, chuck down a quick review.__And I'm sorry, but I couldn't think of a better name than Templar._

_Rated T for some uncensored swearing and scenes of graphic violence. Cover your eyes, children. Also, the prologue is quite bad. It gets better. Promise! There is, after all, only so much you can do with an intro movie._

_EDIT 28/4/2011: I'm finally beginning to go through the early chapters of the story and fix things up. __Updates to FanFiction have screwed up some of my formatting (namely, the divisions between different scenes), which has made things kind of confusing in a few places, so I apologise for that. I'm also correcting any remaining typos/bad sentences/assorted awkwardness, which should hopefully make the first 20 chapters or so a little more enjoyable to read._

Prologue

_"I was born eighty-seven years ago. For sixty-five years I've ruled as Tamriel's Emperor. But for all these years, I've never been the ruler of my own dreams…"_

Uriel Septim, the Emperor of Tamriel, bows his head, the firelight casting dark shadows on his face. One hand reaches out to touch an amulet hanging from his neck, which flares red momentarily as a scribe dutifully copies down his words. Weariness is evident in his every movement.

_"I have seen the gates of Oblivion, beyond which no waking eye may see. Behold, in darkness a doom sweeps the land."_

The Emperor looks up, stares into the distance. He seems to look through the walls of the tower, through time, to a memory from long ago:

_The sky is red, laced with black. Bolts of lightning flicker in the distance. Amid the clanking of chains, a gigantic stone gate sweeps open. A demonic machine – a long stone body, millipede-like legs stamping down in synchronicity, evilly hooked blades spinning within a ball of fire – ponderously trawls forward, with the inevitability of an ice age. Columns of hideous beasts and monsters march on either side, the ground shaking, wielding weapons of every description – towards a rippling, fiery gate, a gate through which can be seen another world._

The view changes:

_A vast expanse of water, surrounded by rolling hills carpeted by trees that reach down to the water's edge. Snowy mountains line the distant horizon. Through the haze, a soaring tower spears through the clouds._

_"This is the 27th of Last Seed, the year of Akatosh, 433. These are the closing days of the Third Era - and the final hours of my life."_

The scribe lets the quill fall from his fingers, which clinks softly as it falls to the floor. After a moment, he picks it up with a shaking hand and continues.

_A gigantic city, all carved marble houses and elaborate gardens, starts to appear. From above, the city is a perfect circle, its centre the tower, divided into six sections, with smaller circles branching out from each point of the compass. Each avenue, park, square, statue is perfect. It is a city of dreams._

_The view soars over the white city walls, towards a smaller district surrounded by a grove of trees. It flies ever faster, centering on a window and then diving into the ensuing blackness-_

Mankar Camoran, Lord of Dawn, steps back from the vision, folds his arms and smiles.


	2. A Turn of Fate

A Turn of Fate

_**The Imperial Prison, Imperial City Prison District, Last Seed 27 3E433**_

_-centering on a window and diving into the ensuing blackness-_

Templar Estantesec sat up on his threadbare, flea-ridden bed and rubbed his eyes blearily. He'd heard of Imperial mages erasing the memories of serious criminals before, but not on this scale; he could barely remember his own name, for Akatosh's sake! And the feel of a sword in his hand, covered in blood…

_Always the blood. It always comes back to the blood._

He stared at his reflection in a bucket of water, and winced as the cliché skipped through his mind. Nevertheless, it was an unflattering picture. Haggard eyes, sunken cheekbones, greasy, dirty hair, a threadbare tunic. All a result of doing something he didn't bloody remember! And, of course, he added to himself, there were the requirements for Cyrodiil's most wanted criminals. Checklist: Water (one bucket per day; make sure there's a few dead bugs floating on the surface), rations (a loaf of bread, at least three days stale; if possible, make sure it contains bonus worms), a bed (fleabitten; this is essential! Make sure the prisoner's bed is pretty much a rag and fleas!), and a bucket for the toilet (don't wash for at least a week – make the prisoner wake up in the morning to the merry smell of his own excrement).

That was it, he reflected bitterly. Yes, that was his cell, the place he'd called home for the last month or so. One window, barred. A torch, flickering. Stone walls, moulded to the surrounding rock and streaked with algae. A stone floor, worn smooth by countless centuries of wrongdoers before him. A chair of some description, and a table of even more dubious quality. A jug (which leaked, as he'd discovered in a humorous episode on his first day). A cracked cup. A little recess for his rag – it was too much to call it a bed. Some manacles hanging from the ceiling, for the more energetic captives. A few bones lying in the corner, just to remind him how hopeless it was to think of ever getting out.

And to make it worse, there was the taunting of the other prisoners. The dark elf in the cell opposite was particularly persistent. At least once an hour he decided to make Templar's life even more miserable than it already was.

As he was doing now. Templar stepped up to the gate to his cell and listened, if not for entertainment, then for a break in the monotony of the place.

"Wake up, Imperial! Ah, there you are. How do you like your cell, huh? Roomy enough for you?"

_I know you don't remember anything – you're one of the lucky ones to have your mind erased. But I…I remember everything. Every little detail. The screams, the blood the FIRE…_

_The damn creature had a way of getting inside his head, no matter how he tried to block him. Suddenly, something in Templar's memories stirred. Something that had been hidden, little more than a month ago…_

"I can't even _imagine_what it's like for you. No more sunshine, no more open seas. Just a box and a dirty beam of light for the rest of your life."

_Do you remember your crime? Do you remember what you did to warrant such a miserable existence? Do you remember the BEAST?_

_Templar liked to watch the specks of dust float around in that little beam of light that came through the window, that light that symbolised the hope of every prisoner. He liked it how they whirled every which way when you blew them. They were insignificant little things, weren't they. Just like human lives-_

_No! Don't remember. Forget…_

"Bet you're glad it won't last long, huh? Oh, didn't you know?"

Templar did know, actually, since the idiot insisted on reminding him at every opportunity.

"No one ever leaves this prison alive! You're going to die in here, Imperial! Die!"

_DIE! Die. Diiiieeee…Does the word bring back memories, Imperial? Painful memories? Memories you'd like to forget?_

_Templar remembered uttering that word. Diiiieeee… It tasted bitter in his mouth. But funny, as last time he'd said it, it had seemed like it fitted_perfectly_into his mouth, a wonderful, sweet taste… Like remembering someone you love. But had he killed them, the very ones that he'd loved-_

"Hey, you hear that!" the elf whispered furtively. "The guards are coming… for you! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

_Get out of my mind!_ Templar thought with fury – but the dark elf already had. And, with a little less fury: _a demonic laugh is probably one of the first signs of insanity._

At least, if he was taken away, he c_ould_ forget. The human brain is a traitorous thing. If they can erase some memories but leave others intact, couldn't they erase the bad ones for ever? You don't get to be a first-class mage for nothing, do you? Judging by the evidence – a nervous wreck of a prisoner, haunted by memories of his tragic past (how was that for a backstory, Templar thought bitterly) – a surprising number of first-class mages were not what they cracked up to be.

A distant voice pierced his thoughts: "Baurus! Lock that door behind us!"

Another voice replied, "Yessir!" Presumably Baurus.

Then another voice, which sounded like – well, he wouldn't believe it unless he saw it with his own eyes. "My sons…they're dead, aren't they…"

There couldn't be any mistaking it! It was definitely the Emperor's voice, as he'd remembered from that meeting. The man had spoken to him, words that filled his heart with pride and courage. Words that he'd never forget. Even with most of his memories desolate and barren, they'd been kind enough to leave that one.

"We don't know that, Sire. The messenger only said they were attacked." This was the first female voice, with the authoritative air of one used to giving orders, and having them obeyed.

"No, they're dead. I know it." He seemed resigned to the fact.

Then the woman's voice again: "My job right now is to get you to safety."

The footsteps tramped closer until three soldiers, in the uniform of the Emperor's Blades – his personal guard – stopped in front of Templar's cell door and turned to face him. And yes, could it be?

The Emperor of Tamriel.

The three guards wore full plate armour, polished steel engraved with gold designs. Each wore a katana in a scabbard on their belts. The Emperor himself wore a thick fur coat of the deepest purple, with a large amulet hanging from his neck. His round face was creased with lines of age, and his eyes were grey, lacking the usual sparkle that marked a person whose thoughts were… if not happy, at least relatively so. _Rather like my own._

While not everything he'd imagined, the Emperor still _looked_ like the Emperor, which was a good sign, he supposed. And why would they be interested in him? _Obviously, my mind has snapped and I'm going the way of that bloody dark elf. It was nice knowing you, world._

Templar stayed in the shadows, uncertain of what was coming. He knew that his heart should have been beating furiously, he should've been filled with – well, _something_ – but a month in the depths of the Imperial prison had sucked the happiness out of him. Instead, he stared dully through the cell bars.

"What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off-limits!" said the female guard irritably.

"Usual mixup with the Watch, I-" replied the as-yet-unnamed guard, stuttering a little.

"Never mind. Get that gate open." She turned back to face Templar. "Stand back, prisoner, over by the window. We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way."

Templar jumped a little at being directly addressed, and meekly backed away to the window, disturbing the little motes of dust.

_What do they want, what do they want. Or is this just the hundredth dream of getting out of this GODS-DAMNED PLACE!_

The dark-skinned guard unlocked the gate, which swung open with the requisite squeak. He walked over to where Templar stood.

"Stay put, prisoner." He gestured at the wall. Templar obeyed, pressing his back against the cold stone. _Get me out of here, please. Let me out. Or perhaps I deserve it. I don't know. I don't know…_

The female guard filed in as well, and seemed to have lost some of her earlier edginess. "Good. Let's go. We're not out of this yet."

As the third Blade stood in the doorway, the Emperor strode up to Templar, and looked at him carefully.

"You… I've seen you… Let me see your face."

He paused. Templar stood silently. _A dream, a dream... Or perhaps just one more ghost._

"You are the one from my dreams… Then the stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength."

_Or perhaps not. _"Um… are you-. What…is going _on?_" he said, the question coming out in a strained croak.

The Emperor let a ghost of a smile play across his lips. "I can't blame you for being rather strained at the moment. But I'm afraid there is no time." His voice had that same deep gravitas that Templar remembered, and was strangely comforting. "As you know, I am your Emperor, Uriel Septim. By the grace of the Gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler. You are a citizen of Tamriel and you, too, shall serve her in your own way."

_Serve her in a bloody useless way._ "And?"

"Several days ago, assassins attacked my sons, and I am next." His eyes flickered with remorse.

Templar's mind flashed past breaking point and back again. "Are they dead? But that would mean that-"

'_...But should the Dragonfires fail, and should no heir of our joined blood wear the Amulet of Kings, then shall the Empire descend into darkness...' It was a legend every child knew._

"Wait. My Blades are leading me out of the city (Bingo! Templar thought to himself) along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your very cell…"

"I'm not meant to be here then, am I. Considering that it's a super-secret escape route used by the royal family in times of need." _Hm, that was a bit flippant. But I couldn't care less, to be honest._

The Emperor half-smiled again. "Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet. As for what you have done… it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for."

_It was like those words, at the coronation. That he would one day be a hero._

_A boy, sitting on his father's shoulders. A cloudless sky, a cheering crowd. The Emperor smiled and waved at his citizens, surrounded by guards in golden armour that flashed in the sunlight. _

_A wave of happiness, of unity, of shared purpose. A strong face, young, a face that could do some _good_ in the world._

_The Emperor stops, giving a blessing to a sick man. A futile gesture, perhaps, but appreciated for what it means rather than what it achieves. He continues his slow walk towards the Temple._

_Then, he locks eyes with a boy who sits upon his father's shoulders, one of the many that line the road. He leans forwards, and brushes the boy's cheek._

"_And you, boy. I can see that _you_ will grow up to do great things."_

_That touch will be remembered for many years, along with the twinkle in his eyes._

The sound of footsteps shook Templar back to reality, as he realised that the guards and the Emperor were leaving. Leaving him here. Leaving him to-

If you say, _"What should I do?"_go to the first block of text.

If you say, _"I go my own way,"_go to the second block of text.

* * *

1

"Okay," he called out. "What should I do now? I mean, until a few minutes ago I was one of the most wanted people in the country_." Not to burst your bubble or anything_.

One of the guards glared and reached for his sword-hilt, as an extra obvious hint, but the Emperor still turned to face him. "You will find your own path. Take care… there will be blood and death before the end."

_Bloody wizards, bloody Emperors, trying to get a straight answer is like entering a maze of mirrors. But you always can't help being intrigued._

"Blood and death sounds like me, alright-"

The female guard interrupted, ignoring him. "Please, sire, we must keep moving."

* * *

2

"I go my own way." _Actually, no. I go the way the prison guard tells me to. _

"So do we all. But what path can be avoided whose end is fixed by the almighty Gods?"

Templar was willing to bet that he could stay away from the Gods any day. It sounded like a load of, well… he didn't want to say it. But despite himself, he was intrigued.

The Emperor was about to say something else, but the female guard interrupted him. "Please, sire, we must keep moving."

* * *

Main Story

The Emperor suddenly became much more business-like. The dark-skinned guard did something to the wall Templar couldn't quite see, as he shielded it with his body. There was a distant clunk.

Then, his bed began to sink into the floor, raising a cloud of thick white dust. The stones of the wall creaked open, folding backwards on hidden mechanisms to expose a passageway_. An escape route, all this time. AN ESCAPE ROUTE! That would've saved some trouble._

"Better not close this one. There's no way to open it from the other side," the female guard told them. This _one_. That must have meant there were other passages too, ways to get around the city unseen. Templar filed that away in what was left of his mental notebook.

The party began walking, the three guards staying close around the Emperor, always alert.

"So, uh…" Templar called out. "Do I just stay here, or what?"

The guard named Baurus smiled grimly at him, flashing his white. A little like the wolf in that children's fairy tale, the one with the girl in the red cloak…

"Looks like this is your lucky day, prisoner. Just keep quiet and stay out of our way."

For the first time in a month, Templar felt a smile break out across his lips.

A smile. A really BIG smile.

Before he had the chance to wake up and spoil everything, he hurried onwards, taking care to stay a dozen paces behind the Emperor, drinking in his surroundings with wide eyes.

The subterranean passageway was natural, a cave with smooth stone walls and rough steps cut into the steeply sloping floor.

Templar followed the small procession through the short cavern and continued through another, this one obviously man-made. The stones on the walls were mortared together, which was a dead giveaway, and the roof was supported by sturdy arches that spanned the ceiling. The floor was cracked and split, and thick cobwebs were nestled in the corners. The route probably hadn't been used in a long time; Cyrodiil, after all, had been relatively peaceful for longer than anyone cared to remember.

Turning right, then left into a slightly bigger room, with little alcoves in the walls and one fallen pillar splayed out across the chamber floor. It didn't make him feel awfully confident about the state of various structural integrities, but he figured that the place had stayed standing for a hundred years, so why should it fall now?

It was dark, the only light coming from shafts in the ceiling, and his bare feet slapped against the floor. Down another flight of steps, through an arch and into a thinner passageway, this one more well-kept. Right, into another passageway, a little wider, with a few more cobwebs and bits of rubble piled up in the corners. Templar had long lost his sense of direction.

_But who cares? I'm out, I'm out, I'm out. Brain. Cannot. Comprehend. Finally free from bathing in my own filth._

_Of course, knowing my luck, something will-_

Then Templar heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being taken from its sheath. He tried not to think about memories.

The three Blades had quickly drawn their swords and formed a protective circle around the Emperor.

"Close up left! Protect the Emperor!" the captain yelled.

Templar was just close enough to hear the Emperor murmur, "Protect yourselves…"

He took the advice ducked away in the shadows, thoughts of assassins and danger whirling through the air, legs shaking. There was clang of boots upon stone. Running footsteps. The smell of mold. Templar peered around the corner, looking for movement.

One Blade rushed forward to engage an enemy behind a thick pillar. Weapons clashed, once, twice, then the air rippled and a man in red robes slumped into view. The Blade returned to the Emperor's side, scanning the room, sword held high, tip slicked with blood.

Then Baurus rushed past towards another two of the assailants, who'd run up the steps in front of them. The assassins wore silver and black armour, intricately engraved, with menacing, molded helmets and red hoods. Each wielded a wicked longsword, and as one turned to meet Baurus, the other rushed towards the Emperor.

"For the Empire!"

Templar suddenly felt more helpless than he had in his life. He saw Baurus neatly sidestep a thrust from the assassin and smash his sword into the man's shoulder, causing him to stagger wildly. The female guard stepped forwards and slashed at the second assassin, who parried and sent a quick thrust at her chest. She spun about, trying to dodge, but the blade sliced through a gap in her armour and into her chest-

_It was an eerie scene. The assassins were completely silent, emotionless. There was nothing but the clang of swords and the patter of footsteps, and the occasional grunt as a stroke was parried. Emotionless. Impassive. Cold. They were the words that sprang to mind._

The assassin pulled his blade out of the guard's body and let her fall to the floor, a pool of blood spreading around her chest.

Templar ducked back around the corner, not wanting to be seen.

"The Captain's down! The Captain's-" Baurus' voice. Then the third guard: "My sword for the Dragon!"

_Sounds a bit lame as a war cry, to be honest._

Baurus had finished off the other assassin and rushed to the Emperor's aid together with the third Blade, swinging his sword furiously, until he managed to bash through the assassin's armour and slice into his stomach. Suddenly, the air began the shimmer, and a red mist exploded out of the assassin's chest, filling the air around him for a moment.

When it cleared, Templar was startled to see a man lying on the ground, dressed in a simple red robe, with no weapons or armour to speak of.

"What-?"

Baurus sheathed his sword bleakly and gave him another glare. "I told you to keep out of our way." _No answers from him, then. _

"Captain Renault?" the Emperor asked softly.

"She's dead. I'm sorry, sire, but we have to keep moving. We'll come back to - to bury her." Baurus' voice had a peculiar note of compassion in it. He must have been a friend of the Captain. _Renault_. That was her name.

The third guard looked around. "How could they be waiting for us _here_?"

"Don't know," Baurus replied. "But it's too late to turn back now. Don't worry, sire," he added, "We will get you out of here. I'll take point." Then, under his breath: "They won't be the first to underestimate the Blades."

The Emperor and the two remaining Blades began walking down the steps. The Emperor's stoop seemed a little more pronounced, more…resigned. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light.

At the bottom, the third guard fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the rust-streaked gate that was the only way out of the room. "You stay here, prisoner. Don't try to follow us."

Templar suddenly realized that they were going to leave him behind. "What do I do now?" he asked, spreading his palms. "You are _not_ going to leave me here, are you?"

The Emperor was the one who replied. "Here you must find your own path. But we will cross paths again before the end… I am sure of it."

And with that, the door swung shut behind them.

"Well forgive me, but that's not exactly much consolation-"

Templar fumed silently. He really, really wanted to scream. To be a few minutes away from a new life, a free life, only to be totally and utterly rejected and left to find his own way out of a bloody rabbit's warren of crusty old tunnels!

_Well, it's better than your cell, isn't it? Look on the bright side._

_Ha, the bright side? How can there be a bright side when it's so dark you can barely see-_

CRACK!

Templar spun around, searching for the source of the noise.

CRACK!

A puff of dust rose from a section of none-too-sturdy looking wall on his right.

CRACK!

He whirled about, looking for something to defend himself with. Anything that lived in these stupid tunnels was probably dangerous.

_SMASH! tinkle tinkle tinkle_

The stones burst outward and tumbled to the floor in a cloud of grime and dirt, and bounding through the hole came two rather large rats.

"Rats! For Akatosh's sake, why did I have to be frightened of a few rats!"

And then the rat bit him. Hard.

Templar yelled in pain, stumbled back, tripped over a bit of rock and sent himself cannoning into a wall. He groggily pushed himself to his feet and peered through the dust that filled the air. He then found out, in a rather dramatic way, that he was looking in the wrong direction. The second rat slammed into him from behind, throwing its not-insubstantial bodyweight into his back. Templar fell flat on his face, swung wildly through the fog of pain, heard – and felt – his fist connect with something furry, heard a ratty squeal of pain, got up again, saw the second rat, and viciously stamped on its head.

"_What a way to start being a hero!_" he shouted angrily to the world in general. "Yes, what a stupidly fun way to save the world! To be half-killed by a pair of abnormally large rats!"

He stopped himself, felt around a bit for broken bones, found none, and launched a few more scathing remarks at the surrounding walls.

It made him feel better, for some reason, and distracted him from the repulsive mess that was the rat's former head. He felt vaguely like being sick. _But that probably won't achieve much, considering when I last ate._

Templar realised he was standing over the body of Captain Renault. He leaned down, and with some kind of perverse curiosity, laid a hand on her cheek.

_Dead, just… like that. Just a little thrust. No more warmth to that voice. A pretty face, cold and lifeless for the rest of time. A sack of meat and bone, lying on the stones forevermore- _

He stood up, and saw the steel.

_Well, I have to have SOMETHING to defend myself with. Even if it is the sword of a dead Blade._

_Sorry, Captain._

He tenderly, shakily opened Captain Renault's fingers and took her katana, gripping it tightly. He paused for a moment, then unbuckled her sword belt as well, tugging it out from under her dead weight and strapping it around his waist. _If you start looting from the dead, you may as well go the whole way. _The captain's face was peculiarly serene – her death had been so quick that she hadn't even had time to be surprised. At least that was something decent about this whole affair.

Absently, he remembered that some people over to the east had made these types of weapons. Akaviri, or something. They'd left a few temples and relics here and there when they left.

Templar shook his head, clearing it of unwanted thoughts. As he walked towards the hole in the wall, his foot slipped in something. He realised that he'd been leaving a trail of bloody footprints all across the floor.

_Something dark in his memories stirred and sniffed the air._

The _smell_ of it, the _taste_ of it…

_The creature basked in the light of the moon and awoke-_

Wait, the taste? That was a fairly vampiric notion.

Slowly, Templar picked his way across the rubble. If a hole in the wall was going to be his salvation, so be ducked through, scraping his shoulders on the rock, then straightened and took in his new surroundings.

_The creature slept on._

He was in a half-finished hall. The roof and floor had the natural look of a cave, complete with roots clinging to the ceiling. While the walls were made of granite blocks, even they were only half-standing. This place hadn't been visited in a _long_ time. Two fat pillars supported the low roof, and the only light came from a thin shaft to the surface. _So close, and yet so far…_ He shook his head. Best not to think about getting out, better to actually _do_ it.

Attached to his stolen sword-belt was an unlit torch, together with a stone flint. He fumbled them with grimy hands, sparks flaring as he struck the rock against steel. Eventually, the dry wood blazed into life, allowing Templar to see a lot more of his surroundings. It seemed that there was an unused well in the centre of the room, and scattered around in the corners were a few rotting chests and…

Skeletons. That didn't make Templar feel awfully comfortable. But there was a thick layer of dust covering all of them, so they hadn't been disturbed in a while. The bones had been stripped of flesh, and were, appropriately, bone-white. Empty eye sockets gazed at him from cracked skulls and crooked necks.

The torch cast wildly flickering shadows, and bits of darkness flitted around the edges of his vision. Templar tried to resist the urge to whirl around each time he saw movement. _It's only a stupid shadow. And yes, the place was pretty freaky to be walking around in, but nothing has obviously been here for a long time._Though one shadow looked unusually like a-

"Rats! Why does it always have to be rats!"

He tried not to slip on the damp stone as he fumbled for his newfound katana. It came out of its sheath with a metallic _shing!_ The weapon felt natural in his hand, finely balanced. And then he didn't have time to think anymore, because the first rat was trying to eat his face.

He raised his left arm in front of his eyes and the first rat cannoned into it, almost making him drop his torch. As the rat fell he swung wildly with his sword, cutting a large gash in its side.

Templar absently kicked the squealing rat into the nearest wall, where it lay, motionless. _So where's the second one?_

As Templar waited, all he could hear was the crackle of the torch, the dripping of water and the scrabbling of some ratty feet-

He whirled around with his torch at exactly the right moment. It swept across the rat's body, setting its fur aflame, and it darted away through a hole in the wall. He almost felt pity for the animal as its shrieks faded into the distance.

Templar stood for a moment, breathing heavily, then sheathed the katana._ Don't think, keep going. Just try and get out. _He spied a chest in the corner and walked over to it. The wood was damp to the touch, and the hinges made a soft rasping sound as they opened.

Inside, barely visible amid the accumulated muck, were six gold coins and a rusty war axe. Templar pocketed the gold, but left the axe alone. Swallowing his apprehension, he ventured closer to the first skeleton. Any traces of its humanity had long rotted away, and the bones had been picked clean by the rats. Next to the skeleton was a sack of spoiled food. Hungry though he was, Templar didn't fancy eating any of it. You could see the worms.

But… lying next to the skeleton was a fairly well-preserved fur cuirass, a simple wooden shield and a pair of leather boots, obviously having been the property of the deceased in front of him. Templar shuddered a little at the thought of wearing them, but the thought of venturing out into the world in nothing but a dirty tunic didn't appeal. He gingerly strapped on the cuirass and slid his feet into the boots, trying to clamp down on any unpleasant imaginings. The gear didn't _feel _too moldy or rotten, at least, and was actually quite stiff with age. He ended up clumsily strapping the shield to his back.

After scouring about in the muck a bit more, he managed to find another ten coins, and a couple of lockpicks (_always useful in times of need_). A surprising amount of stuff, really.

He noticed that there was another chest lying next to the skeleton - but it was locked, and no amount of kicking would open it.

"Well, if this isn't a time of need, I don't know what is," he murmured. The lockpick was a long, thin piece of metal which bent upwards at a right angle at one end; not a complex tool, but it got the job done.

He slotted it into the lock on the chest and felt around for any indentations, finding only one. He jiggled the pick around a bit, attempting to push the tumbler upwards. There was a sudden, soft _click, _and Templar reflexively jammed the pick into the gap.

_Success._ The lid swung open with a satisfying creak. _Amazing the skills one picks up over the years,_ he thought to himself. _From where, I don't know. But thank you, past self, for your help. Take a bow._

Inside were a few more gold pieces and a large, beautiful sapphire. It glinted in the torchlight, sparkling a deep azure blue.

Templar pocketed it. He wouldn't have normally, but-

He was about to move on when a glint caught his eye. It was a hunter's bow, cracked and warped, but still useable. _Barely. _The string was, remarkably, still attached, and didn't appear to be fraying. On the floor beside it was a quiver of a dozen arrows_._

Every boy in the Empire knew how to use a bow – it was pretty much a required skill. While Templar hadn't been all that good at it, he hadn't been all too bad either.

"Let's see if the man can still shoot an apple at twenty paces," he said to himself. _Yeah, right,_said a distant part of his mind. But he ignored that.

Templar slid his hand around the somewhat eroded iron grip and pulled an arrow from the quiver. He nocked it in neatly and searched for a target, eyes falling on the bucket suspended over the well in the centre of the room. _That'll do nicely. Nice and big, so I'm more likely to have a chance to congratulate myself upon hitting something._

Templar backed up to the wall, and tilted his head a little as he aimed. The sight moved as he breathed in and out. _Wait for it, wait for it... There!_ He loosed the arrow, which smashed into the bucket with a resounding _thwack!_ It swung back and forth merrily, and arrow embedded in its side.

"How's _that_ for a shot," he exclaimed, voice bouncing off the stone walls. Templar grinned a little as he walked up to the bucket and, with a little difficulty, extracted the arrow from the wood and slotted it back into his quiver.

_Time to move on, I guess. Suitably armed, our noble hero attempts to escape this wicked labyrinth and find his way to the surface!_

_Haha. _

At any rate, it wasn't good to linger. Maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed like the light from the surface was already beginning to fade.

The torch wouldn't last forever. And with the darkness, the ghosts would come.

There was a wooden door – well, not really, just a few planks nailed together – that led out of the room, and presumably into more caverns and other assorted subterranean adventures involving rats. But in front of the door, there was something he hadn't noticed before – the recently deceased corpse of a goblin. _Obviously this place isn't as deserted as it appears._

It had been a sorcerer by the look of it, from the ram's-horn mask it was wearing and its flowing robe. The goblin's blue-green skin was scaled and wet, and it lay face down in the mud. Generally, goblins were considered as just marauding nuisances, but still – a it was probably more than he could handle in his somewhat weakened, half-delirious, happy-sad state. _Dodging goblin fireballs was NOT what I had in mind for today's entertainments. _

_No, I was planning to count the number of stones in the cell's northern wall again, and give them all names, and-_

As had become his custom, Templar searched the body. It was somewhat unpleasant feeling about under the creature's robe, but _bright side! Bright side!_

_Wooden club – no. Katana is FAR more efficient at killing things._

_Some sort of purple potion bottle. Possibly a magicka potion? Hm, may as well take it, I suppose._

_Two scrolls – titled Chameleon and Flash Bolt. Probably instructions on how to do some fancy magic. Could be useful and/or entertaining reading material if I get buried in a cave-in and have to starve to death._

_Iron key – most likely need it. Take._

_Lockpick – take._

Templar walked over to the door, torch held high. He tried the handle, which didn't budge.

Then, in a rare moment of insight, he fished the goblin's key from a pocket and tried it in the lock. It fit quite nicely. He turned it with a click and the door swung open: a door that led into the substructure of the Imperial City, deep into the earth and up to the surface, to escape, and possibilities, and the glorious feeling of rain upon your cheeks. A door that led to a his salvation.

Quite an ordinary door to be leading to all that, really.

* * *

_UPDATE 28/4/2011: I just realised how insanely detailed I was making these early chapters. Wow. I suppose it was all just an experiment at first, but if I'd known where I'd be 200,000 words later, I would have cut some of that stuff out. _

_Also, +1 for starting off with the cliché of the main character looking at his reflection, and being mercilessly unsubtle about the whole "dark past" thing, and having absurd changes in tone and characterisation between every paragraph, and being really sloppy about the whole thing…_

…_Though to be fair, I was fifteen at the time._

_I've cleaned this up as much as possible (short of rewriting the whole thing) to make it much more generally readable, and hopefully a bit less terrible. _

_I have ALSO just realised how broken this story is – the scene divisions have somehow completely disappeared, which makes things very confusing when the later chapters beginning swapping between multiple perspectives. IT WILL BE FIXED._


	3. An Underground Adventure

An Underground Adventure

_**The Imperial City Substructure, Imperial Isle, Last Seed 27 3E433**_

_-the door swung open to reveal-_

Another cavern. Quite a disappointment, really. He'd been expecting towering vaults and long-forgotten treasure chambers, but what did he get? Just a bloody stupid cave!

The world wasn't fair, Templar thought to himself, shaking his head. _Really, I'm officially classed as a hero now by the Emperor himself, and here I am wandering about under the Imperial City. Where are the fanfares? Where are the people gloriously shouting my name and throwing confetti from their windows as I parade through the streets?_

Templar had always favoured sarcasm as a form of humour. Though occasionally hurtful, sarcasm and cynicism were actually funny, when compared to more groan-worthy choices such as – shudder – _puns_. And being left to rot in a dark, dank prison cell for thirty days had this way of bringing out the bitterness in people.

He coughed, and wiped one crusty sleeve against his nose, head swimming slightly. Some open air would be nice, not the fetid stink that filled the underground. The adrenaline from his escape was finally starting to wear off, and with it came the tiredness. _Not enough air. Not enough food. _

Yes, open air. Sunlight. People. His-

His family. Just a big, black hole in the middle of his mind. Templar assumed that a wizard could reverse the process of losing his memory (he wondered vaguely if amnesia was as common in real life as it was in fiction), so he could find them again. He was sure he had children; at least, that's what his dreams told him.

And with his memories returned, he could also find out… what he'd done. What he'd done to be thrown into that godawful place. The dark elf's words echoed in his ears: _'I remember all of it. The blood, the tears, the dark, the PAIN-'_

Or maybe he didn't want to find out. Some things were best left forgotten.

Templar started off down the passageway, steadying himself with one arm against the curving wall. A few moments later, he emerged into a small room, almost identical to the one he'd just left; roughly square, scattered with piles of granite blocks and assorted debris. A couple of half-finished pillars broke up the floor.

Also like the previous chamber, it contained a large rat. The animal skittered off into the gloom at his approach, tail slithering back and forth.

He sighed. "I really, really don't feel like spending a couple of hours killing rats."

_-rattle-_

The beast (_oh, you're defeating mighty beasts now, are you?) _had taken shelter in a distant corner. Taken shelter like he had, when the guards came to beat him. _Body covered in bruises, always wondering why, whimpering about memory_. Like he'd tried to shelter from the cold, the constant, aching cold that seeped from every stone. Like he'd tried to shelter from the voices, and the dreams, and _DON'T THINK ABOUT IT. DON'T._

Templar blinked, and suddenly had an idea. He skulked over to a dark corner and put out his torch, hearing a soft hiss as woodsmoke spiralled into the air; then he pulled out the scroll marked "Flash Bolt", unfurling it, squinting at the letters. Something stirred…

_The fire. Burning houses, screaming, panic. The village was almost completely ablaze, the hungry flames casting hellish shadows in the night. _

_Templar ran. Lungs burning, choking on ash. Searching for something, but… what? He couldn't remember. And then he found them. Three people, huddling together. And a man walking up to them with a rusty sword. A rusty, _bloodied _sword._

_Templar screamed, and the beast awoke-_

_-roared and pulled against its chains, and slid back into darkness._

Templar realised that he knew how to make fire, to conjure heat with nothing but his mind. _Breathe. In, out. In out. _He closed his eyes, trying to feel for unremembered instincts, ignoring the half-memories that threatened to burst like an overfilled dam. He'd have time to think about them later. Right now, there was a rat that needed killing.

Yes, all you had to do was put your fingers together like _this_ and flick your wrist like _this_ and throw your arm forward like _this-_

_And imagine fire._

Fire bloomed in Templar's hand, swirling around it like ribbons in the wind. _Whoomph! _A globe of flame leapt from his outstretched fingers, straight towards the unfortunate rat, speeding through the air with a trail of white-hot sparks-

_Whoosh._The rat was engulfed in searing heat as the fire bloomed over its body in a deadly cloak. It convulsed madly, shrieking in pain, until a moment later, the fire faded away.

_Yes._

"That was… cool!" _No, it was HOT you idiot. _"Good. Awesome. Whatever." He felt a little drained, but magic did that to you. He'd feel all right in a couple of minutes.

Even that little tidbit of knowledge was a comfort. Perhaps he'd have a chance of getting 'fixed' after all.

"Nothing like freshly roasted rat to ruin a man's appetite," Templar said, after a moment's thought. The quip sounded rather stupid out loud, but he was right. The thing had a pungent, sickly smell, like rotten cabbages and burnt bread. Templar couldn't understand how anyone could _eat_ the things, let alone have them as a favourite food, but in some places, rat-on-a-stick was considered a fine delicacy.

He spied a small puddle in the corner, and took a few mouthfuls of water. Up above was a shaft to the surface; he could just see the slightest glimpse of sky far above, a hint of blue and orange. He let himself enjoy the glimpse of the sun, the hint of fresh air, just for a moment. Dangling tree roots brushed against his face, cold and clammy.

_Now for my next trick, here we have a simple deck of cards…_

_Right, healing. Healing was different. You had to imagine a kind of shade of blue, fill your mind with it, a_healing_shade of blue. Growing, and flowing, and blossoming. _

Raise your arm, wave your hand about a bit in a clockwise direction, look upwards, and voila! Instant cure.

Blue puffs of light swirled around his arm in a sinuous trail, from a bright, condensed azure ball in the palm of his hand. There was a sound like rushing wind as the light spread across his body, healing minor cuts, bruises, tiredness…

That feels _good._

It did indeed. Templar still felt a bit worn out, but the exhaustion and countless aches, bruises and general dull pain had all faded away to almost nothing.

Huh. _I must be turning into a goddamned wizard_. For some reason, Templar had a dislike of mages, with their stupid cloaks and stupid trinkets and stupid towers and lofty demeanors… They were worse than – shudder – _mime artists_, in Templar's books.

_Why do I feel like that? No f—king idea. _Magic was definitely still be useful, though – especially healing magic. It was like a miraculous cure for everything. It _was_ a miraculous cure for everything, except for death. Well, even death, in some cases… but everything had a price.

_Death. Dead bodies, limbs torn off, puddles of blood. Templar wiped his lips…_

Right. Another chest, next to a pile of fallen blocks and a cracked pillar, tucked into a natural alcove in the cave's wall. Templar opened it, and took a glance at its contents:

Maybe two-dozen iron arrows – take a couple. Carrying too many more would probably dislocate his back, given his current strength levels. Hopefully some time in the real world would increase his body-type from 'emaciated' to merely 'very thin'.

A rusty iron bow and war axe – no need, got a bow, got a sword.

Some sort of potion bottle, with a single heart engraved into the cap – healing, perhaps? He took it, just in case.

Lockpicks and torches – swiftly taken, as it was always good to have spares. _Don't know how long I'll be wandering around down here, after all. _Idly, he wondered if the prison guards would come looking for him once they figured out he'd escaped; hopefully not, as he didn't exactly know his way around the tunnels.

And on the bottom, a rusty iron breastplate and some old, battered greaves. Hmmm…  
Templar shrugged off his fur-leather cuirass and laid it next to the chest. He then took the iron breastplate and fitted it around his chest and back, attaching the pieces tightly, feeling the metal against his ribs. He then strapped the greaves to his thighs, cursing as he cut a finger on a sharp edge.

The rust wasn't too bad, and there weren't any holes or dents. It fit okay, as well.

He stood up, and then the weight hit him.

"Ugh!" Templar sagged at his knees and leaned against the wall to steady himself. He staggered around drunkenly for a bit, swearing to the empty air, trying to stay on his feet, until he eventually got a hold of himself. _I suppose you should've been expecting that, 'hero'. _The thing – he tapped his chest – rang like a bell when you bashed it, too. That would get to be quite annoying.

The next passageway led off from the other side of the chamber, and sloped steeply downwards. Templar struggled to stay standing on the slippery stone.

More squeaking. Two rats skittered around the corner, chattering loudly, and ran straight past him to the room above.

Running. _But from what?_

Templar jumped as he saw a humanoid shadow appear on the wall at the bottom of the stairs, a dark, rounded shape thrown into kingly proportions by firelight from the room behind. It had a strange, lurching kind of movement to it, one that brought the undead to mind –

"Oh, no!" The realisation came. _This is my excitement for the day, then._

A wave of stench drifted around the corner, as the shadow got larger and larger… A rotting finger, then a hand, then an arm- Templar had to stop himself from dropping his sword.

The figure appeared to be a long-dead human corpse. There were several large gashes in its stomach, weeping pus and blood, and countless other wounds and abrasions. You could see a bit of lung through a hole in its chest, and its hairless skin was brown and lifeless. Both of the thing's eyes had been gouged out, and its head was held at a lopsided angle, mouth contorted into a neverending silent scream.

Then it groaned softly, and sniffed a little as it turned in Templar's direction. Slowly, it began to stumble up the slope.

_Zombies. _This was quite unnatural. Templar frowned, surprised he didn't have a stronger reaction, but he supposed that a month in a dark cell would do that to you.

He gingerly stepped forward and swung with his katana. _Splick! _With a kind of splashing sound, it sliced through the zombie's flesh with ease. An intestine slowly oozed out of the cut, red and purple and black.

But it kept walking. Closer, and closer. Suddenly, the zombie leant forward and swiped at him with one arm, faster than Templar thought possible. The limb flopped against his armour as he backed away, doing no damage at all.

_Now, it's on._

Templar aimed for the neck and took a mighty slash. The blade sang through the air and the zombie's head flew clean off, falling to the ground, rolling down the slope and coming to a rest at the far wall with a dull _thud._

Now the zombie was _running_ towards him.

"Oh, come on! How the hell do you kill these damn things!" he yelled, sounding a bit crazed even to his own ears. _For the god's sake man, you're out of prison. You can stop talking to yourself._

Maybe fire would work. Dead bodies usually burned quite merrily.

He flicked his hand forward and shot off a fireball at the rapidly approaching zombie. It hit with a bright flash, and fire began eating away at the zombie's flesh, crackling and sparkling.

Soon, the flames had engulfed the creature's whole body. It began thrashing around wildly, groaning, careening into one wall and then the other. Templar had to duck a swinging arm as he waited for the fire to do its work.

Perhaps twenty seconds later, the zombie finally fell to the ground, a burnt, blackened, crisp. It was still moving slightly, legs twitching, but Templar thought it wouldn't be sneaking up behind him any time soon.

Down a hallway, turn right. Here, part of the ceiling had collapsed, revealing some more of the vaulted, dusty substructure Templar recognised from before, with the Emperor and his Blades. He half-heartedly considered trying to stack some debris and climb up, but thought better of it; it would be too much effort, and the Emperor would probably be long gone. _And what was that irritating guard's name? Ah, that's right. Baurus. I don't particularly want to run into him again._

Left this time, and down a slope. _Down down down, into the darkness, into the madness…_

He killed a rat that appeared around the corner with one quick stroke. Captain Renault's katana was seeing quite a bit of use, which seemed only fitting (though slaughtering rodents was a bit less glamorous than defending the Emperor's life).

The next room was sort of L-shaped, and the ceiling had half-collapsed, revealing supports underneath - relatively recent-looking wooden beams. Templar re-lit his torch, not wanting to break a leg on a hidden pothole. _That would be INCREDIBLY annoying._ Another two rats were disturbed by the light and persisted in attacking him. They died on the katana's blade.

A chest sat beside a pile of fallen bricks, containing a couple of potions and lockpicks, which Templar hung on his belt. There was also a dirty sack, containing, of all things, several cloves of garlic.

Templar sniffed it, and quickly turned his head away in revulsion. It was quite fresh, perhaps the product of some goblin hunting party, but – he couldn't stand the smell of it. _Much less the taste._ _Might have to wait a bit longer for some real food._

Around the bend of the L, where two more thick beams supported the roof. Cobwebs were thick in the stagnant air, stretching across the dry cavern walls. Down another rocky slope, into another, larger room. Distantly, Templar felt he was getting a little too deep underground for his liking; he hadn't gone 'up' in a while, which was… worrying.

This chamber had a raised wooden walkway around one side, with a sunken pit in the centre. There were four metal grills in the ceiling, through which Templar could see another area (was it another cell?) and another thin shaft to the surface. Thick slime dripped down from the grills in long sticky strands, and there were several broken planks on the floor, that had presumably been covering the holes. Boxes and crates, many of them cracked and broken, were discreetly stacked in one corner.

And, disturbingly, between the four pillars in the middle of the pit, there were a couple of human skulls. And possibly a ribcage. Intermingled with the bones was some fresh fruit – melons, by the looks of it.

As much as the food tempted him, and despite his dulled senses… it was too much like a trap for Templar's liking. _Suspicious pit, bones, a lure… _The springers of the trap were likely waiting for him somewhere nearby, waiting for him to enjoy their little feast. He crouched in the shadows for a second, wondering what to do.

Quietly, he unslung the bow from his shoulder and put an arrow to the string. Then, he kicked a pebble down into the centre of the room. It bounced off a pillar and came to a rest in a small hollow, looking rather innocent.

Two rats jumped out of a niche in the wall and pounced on the poor, undeserving pebble.

Templar didn't wait for an invitation. Two arrows were loosed in quick succession. One hit the mark, but the other bounced harmlessly off the ground. The remaining rat came bounding up the stairs.

He moved sideways, cursing his armour for its lack of mobility. Templar pulled another arrow from his quiver and loosed it, all in one clumsy motion.

_Thwack! _The arrow entrenched itself in the rat's skull.

He trudged over to the body and pulled it out with a wet grating sound, cleaned it a little with his tunic (_it's already stained with my own blood and filth, why not add something else's to the mix; variety is the spice of life, after all_). Satisfied that there were no more enemies skulking around, he descended into the pit, kicked aside the bones, and took a bite out of a spongy melon.

The juices dribbled down his chin as he muched the orange fruit between dirty, yellowed teeth. After months of half-cooked gruel, the sensation was almost heavenly.

_Ah, this is the life. Well, almost. __'_Almost', for obvious reasons.

There was also a tomato lying amongst the muck, which followed soon after. Templar didn't normally like tomatoes, but this was an exception.

He wiped his lips and walked over to the stack of crates. Most were empty, but on the ground beside them were a rusty iron shield, and a dented iron helmet that went rather well with his breastplate and greaves. Templar slid the helmet onto his head, and swapped the iron shield for his leather one.

Scavenging wasn't exactly good for self-esteem (S_elf-esteem? You? Ha!)_, but it was certainly useful… and that was all that mattered, at this point. After filching some more gold from a chest, he walked up a natural ramp to the next passageway.

Something flickered in the darkness, outside the light cast by his torch. A rat charged him from behind a pillar and he raised his shield quickly and swung his sword in a downward arc, hearing the slice as the sword's edge met flesh. The creature fell to the ground, lifeless and broken. Left around the corner and another rat died, but not before denting the bottom of his newly-acquired shield.

In the next cavern, more twisting tree roots dangled from the ceiling, looking eerily like outstretched, spidery hands. Here the path split in two, both passages looking a little like an old mine tunnel, very square and regular, with oaken support braces and a smooth gravelly floor. In the glint of the torchlight, he found couple more coins – _be rich before long_ – and discovered that a barely ten metres further on, the two passages joined up again. It turned left at the end, so left he went.

Templar travelled down yet another slope, into another small room which was almost honeycombed with ceiling shafts, thin holes that led all the way to the surface, twenty metres distant. Sunlight dappled the grey and brown stone, bringing an island of light to the underground. In a wall niche, he found a few lockpicks and another healing potion, as well as four bottles of ale in a barrel.

Getting drunk would undoubtedly make him feel extremely happy, but what little common sense he still had told him that it wasn't a good idea, at least at the moment.

But… where was the way out? He glanced around the room, looking for an exit. It seemed like the light from above was almost taunting him. Templar hoped he hadn't come all this way – and killed so many rats, as well as a goddamned zombie – just to find out that this whole cold, unpleasant journey led to a bloody dead end!

He searched around the perimeter of the room, hoping something would jump out at him. And then- yes! A narrow opening in the (_north? South? East?) _wall. It was barely a foot wide, just a small, thin grotto that burrowed into the rock.

Nevertheless, it was an exit. Templar squeezed through, scraping his armour along the sides.

And heard the dreaded squealing sound.

Damn! He could barely move, for Akatosh's sake, let alone defend himself. His only chance was to move sideways and hope his armour would protect him until the chasm widened – the gods only knew that he'd lugged it around for long enough…

The skittering of claws came closer.

And closer.

Templar couldn't bear the waiting, the waiting for something to cannon into his side. A dozen kilos of furry, ratty flesh, complete with claws and tetanus-filled teeth.

And then it came. _BANG! "_Ugh!" _skitter skitter skitter. _The impact winded him a little, but Templar though he'd probably hold up. _I've had worse, these past few weeks._

The cave bent back and forth, curving like a letter S, stalagmites and stalactites impeding his progress. As Templar edged along it, he tried to think of pleasant things. Like flowers. Buttercups were nice. And kittens. Kittens leaping and biting and scratching-

Dammit! _Nice_ things. Like sunshine. And families-

And then Templar's thoughts were distracted by yet more squealing. Another rat.

This one jumped at his face.

_SMACK__-eek-"OW__!"_

His helmet rang like a gong as claws scratched at the metal. _Not the eyes, not the eyes! _Templar's vision swirled as he wobbled around unsteadily. _Breath in, breathe out. _Resolutely, he kept edging along. Until-

Yes! A cave. Natural, too, by the looks of it. No pillars or walls, just old-fashioned rock.

But back the rats.

_Shing!_ The katana sang its deadly song as it sliced through the damp air.

Thirty seconds later, Templar stood in front of two dead rats. _Perhaps I should become an exterminator._

The cavern was much wetter than the half-built chambers he'd passed through, and he could heard the drip-drip-drip of water somewhere in the distance. A few greying wisp stalks were clustered around one stalagmite, together with a variety of toadstools. Smooth rocks eroded by a century's dampness were scattered over the ground and the corners were thick with cobwebs, stretched between the damp stone walls.

Another skeleton lay between two heaps of hay at the far side, hand outstretched, gesturing towards a large chest. After a closer look, Templar saw a shining ruby and silver goblet in his hand.

_What's in the box?_

Gold, lockpicks, some other bluish potion and-

Two healing potions. They would have come in rather useful to the skeleton. _That explains the desperate reaching._

After a moment's pause, he leant down and delicately tugged the ruby from the skeleton's fingers, pocketing it. But the movement was too sudden, and the skeleton's head _creaked_ to one side…

… and tumbled to the ground in a clatter of dust and bone.

_Whoops. Well, I'm sure he doesn't mind._

Templar walked around a large, circular rock formation, then dodged a low-hanging stalactite and a few more wisp stalks, brushing cobwebs out of his way. The silken strands made him shiver as they stuck to his face and hands, and he made sure to check any spiders had long departed. _Don't like spiders._ The webs were extremely thick, and made a peculiar ripping sound, like…

Well, like cobwebs being brushed out of the way, really.

The cave narrowed, into a more even, open area, that was lit by a small and merrily crackling fire. That didn't really encourage Templar. That meant someone lived here, and the only things around here intelligent enough to make a fire – that he'd seen – were goblins. And goblins were bad news.

Most worryingly, a goblin early-warning system was hanging from the ceiling – a dozen fresh human skulls, secured with fraying rope.

Templar just hoped that he'd had enough practice against rats – and that his own head wouldn't be joining them.

* * *

_UPDATE 4/5/2011: Fixed up a bunch of typos, made stuff more consistent, took out some bad jokes, redid the descriptions, increased detail, etc. It's a lot better now, hopefully._

_For anyone who actually made it through these first few chapters and wrote a complimentary review, you now have my utmost respect :-)_


	4. Through the Darkness

_I'm sorry about going through the tutorial in a slow and probably annoying manner, but this whole thing is kind of an experiment to see what I can write. It'll get more interesting once the action steps outside, I promise! And don't underestimate your reviews, people – they are probably the greatest encouragement you can give to an author. _

_Other stuff: I could make up some arty reason as to why I haven't described Templar's appearance (e.g. you're meant to create your own image of him), but the truth is that I just forgot. Also, the story name is temporary, until I can think of a better one. "Oblivion" is a bit unoriginal, don't you think?_

_EDIT: Title's been changed to "Till the End of Time." You'll find out in what it means in around 2050 when I finally finish this thing._

Through the Darkness

_**Natural Caverns, Under the Imperial City, Last Seed 27 3E433**_

Wouldn't be joining them, hey?

Ah, well. Once he got out of this hellhole there would be some very devout praying going on.

He walked down a long, sloping cavern, and turned left past a few broken crates and a bear trap. _Wouldn't want to get caught in one of those, would you now. Snap!_

-crackle-

Templar froze.

And then realised it was merely a crate succumbing to the rigors of time, the wood warping and splintering from centuries of damp. Yes, see, there was a new crack running along its side-

-crackle-

He glanced at the crate. "Looks pretty crate-like to me," Templar muttered quietly. He briefly wondered if someone was hiding inside it, but told himself not to jump at ghosts. _You've got enough to jump at with the zombies._

Nevertheless, he decided to avoid drawing any more attention to himself. He smothered his torch in the dirt and crept around the corner, keeping to the shadows.

Around said corner was another identical cavern - stalagmites in the centre, a few toadstools growing, and few roots and cobwebs making life even more unpleasant. Some sort of jewel glinting in the corner. It was like the spirits had just copied-and-pasted from some sort of cave _template_ when creating the world millions of years ago.

Damn, this place was getting on his nerves. He was _very_ jumpy. Yes, a pretty ordinary cavern, except for the goblin-

_Sh—t!_

Goblin, rummaging in the dirt by the far wall. It hadn't seen him.

Templar crab-walked over to a convenient corner and paused to consider his options. The little Flare-fireballs he'd been so proud of probably wouldn't cut it.

Fight? That was dicey, unskilled as he was. Rats were one thing, but a live goblin-

Run? …Where? Back to the prison? Fat chance.

Sneak past? No. He'd have a live goblin wandering around behind him. And trying to be stealthy could go balls-up very, very quickly.

Backstab? Hmm…

Easy, deadly, and it even suited his personality.

Templar drew his sword, and cursed as a soft metallic scrape echoed through the cave. But, no. The goblin didn't notice. It had walked around the corner now, and probably didn't suspect a thing.

Templar followed it around the bend in the cave. There was a somewhat larger fissure at the other end, rectangular and bathed in firelight. Inside, the goblin had made a little campsite, complete with a chair-shaped boulder, a crate-table and a rat cooking on a spit.

The goblin was leaning over the fire, sniffing his cooking. Templar estimated ten steps to the creature's back. Ten little moments where his the road of his life could either stay safe, or get a whole lot more complicated.

Step. _One_.

The goblin's shadow danced in the light of the fire as it bent over the flames.

Step. _Two._

Three-

-skitter skitter-

_Oh, please no._ But it wasn't a rat, merely the goblin kicking a pebble across the ground as he worked.

Four.

Five. Templar's mind flowed around the morning's events, stopping briefly at his little visions - _my own private madness. _But he pushed all mention of them from his mind; it was better to think about it in the daylight (if at all), not down here in this dark, dank underworld.

Six.

Seven. He skirted a small pool of water, and as he glanced down, he saw his face reflected in the darkness.

What he saw chilled him. His eyes were black, cold. Lifeless. He couldn't even see the firelight twinkling in them.

That look, that harshness was somehow familiar to him. It brought back memories of that… awful night. Of blood and fear. Memories best left in the vaults of the subconscious. His mind flowed on, out of his control. Images, feelings. The cave was left behind, flying through the night.

Eight. What had he done?

Nine. What had he done?

Ten. _WHAT HAD HE DONE!_

Suddenly, Templar noticed that his hands were shaking. He stilled them, and slowly let out the breath he'd been holding - and with it, the ghosts.

It was time for the goblin to meet the business end of his weapon.

Templar sprang up from his crouch, pushed the goblin's head aside one side with one hand, and slammed his sword like a dagger into the creature's neck. Blood sprayed from the wound as the goblin slumped to the ground, pooling on the floor.

"Now _that_ is gross." Templar shook the red liquid from his hands and wiped them on the goblin's tunic. He remembered the feel of its cold, scaly skin as he'd pushed the steel into its flesh.

Flesh which began to roast, as the creature's legs had splayed out into the fire. The smell was, if possible, worse than frying rat. But still, the thought of cooked meat made his stomach groan.

_Now, that wasn't too hard, was it._

He took two lockpicks and a pouch of twenty coins from the creature's belt – what someone would need coins down here for was a bit of a mystery, but no matter – and remembered that he'd seen a glint in the corner of his eye back in the previous chamber.

He walked back around the corner again and almost stepped on a skeleton lying in the dirt, an egg-shaped sapphire clutched in its fingers. Templar took it for himself, and wondered how the man (or woman) had died. "Rest in peace." _Jewels and prayers won't help you down here._

Also by the skeleton was a chest, containing two weak healing potions and a potion of sorcery.

Templar returned to the room where he'd killed the goblin. Its skin was crackling and wrinkling as it burnt.

Aha! Another chest, hidden behind a jutting boulder. Templar tested the lid, which didn't budge. He unhooked a pick from his belt and wiggled it into the lock.

He could only feel one tumbler. That was good.

Slide towards you, push up, _open_-

_Snick-crack_

Templar swore. Timing wasn't good enough. The tumbler and keyhole hadn't been exactly aligned, so the lockpick had snapped as he tried to open the chest.

Attempt number two.

Slide towards you, push up, waitafractionofasecond, _open_-

_Click!_

The chest opened with a satisfying creak. Inside was – more lockpicks. And a torch. It really wasn't worth it. Why someone would go to all the trouble of sealing a few lockpicks and a torch inside a chest was beyond him. Then again, hearing voices in your head and talking to yourself weren't really synonymous with good judgement either, so he couldn't exactly complain.

Right, back to business. Keep the cynicism for later. What was on the goblin's table?

One: Wisp Stalk caps. Quite, quite useless. To him, anyway. Maybe the goblins ate them.

Two: A simple mortar and pestle. Hmmm… Wisp stalks were probably useful when mixed with certain other ingredients. You could crush it with the mortar and pestle, and heat it with something, or – _oblivion, I don't know. Save the academic pursuits till we get out of this hole._

Three: More mushrooms. Stinkhorn caps, from the smell, and also useless. But... surely there was a reason the goblin had a bunch of mushrooms scattered across its table? Alchemy was a widely-practiced science, and perhaps mixing wisp and stinkhorn did something?

_Lots of questions. _He was half-tempted to try making a paste with the mortar-and-pestle; the worst case scenario was just that he'd poison himself, or everything would explode, and then Templar wouldn't have to worry about _anything_ anymore.

He could just imagine the headlines: "Escaped prisoner blows himself up, levels the prison district with mushrooms." Just a bit of grinding here, a bit of mish-mash here, heat it on the fire…

"No," he said forcefully. "No distractions. Get out of the godsdamned caves first, idiot."

Back to the goblin's stash. Four: A sickly green potion in a cone-shaped glass bottle. The words "Poison of Illness" and a grinning skull were inscribed faintly on the metal cap.

_Poison. Wonderful. If I get out, I'd probably be arrested for carrying poison, _Templar thought.

He took it anyway. Onwards!

Templar kept his sword drawn as exited the room, snuck around the corner, clambered up a lumpy stone slope. The ground was damp and he almost slipped over, scrabbling at the rock with one clammy hand. At the top, he paused and peered around a handy boulder.

A gloomy, squared-off cavern with a slight depression in the middle. And another enemy - a goblin was walking back and forth below some very-nasty looking logs. Each log was about two metres long and half-a-metre in diameter, and was covered in stubby spikes. One end was attached to a chain that descended from the ceiling, and while the other was held up to the cavern's roof by a fraying rope stretched across the bottom. It almost of resembled a set of three swinging maces; when the rope was cut, the logs would swing down on their chains, crushing anything in their path with half-a-ton of pain. There was also a rather conspicuous tripwire stretched across the entrance to the cave. Templar followed the rope with his eyes.

_Across opening, up wall, through bracket, up to ceiling, across logs…_

He was starting to think that goblin killing was too easy. Now here was an _awfully_ convenient situation that allowed him to kill the beast without even getting his hands dirty.

Templar edged forward - burst from cover - and chopped through the tripwire with his sword.

The goblin noticed him and snarled, jumping towards him with an axe raised above its head. Then it turned, and jumped in surprise and horror. Obviously the trap had been meant for someone else. _Wrong place, wrong time, my little green friend._

The goblin squeaked, began running out of the way. The rope quickly slithered past him as the weight of the logs pushed downwards. One after the other, each log fell from the ceiling with a groan of rusty metal, gaining momentum and going faster and faster until-

Lo and behold! One dead goblin.

The second log _smashed_ into the back of the goblin as the first one swished past, the spikes punching into the thing's back. Its body arched over as it flew forward, propelled by the heavy log behind it.

Templar suddenly noticed that the goblin's axe was flying straight at his head. He threw himself sideways as the axe screeched along the cave wall, kicking up sparks as it went.

He never even saw the goblin.

Templar was suddenly embroiled in a mess of arms, legs and scaly skin. As his head cracked against the hard rock of the ground, his last, slightly random thought was of bears playing in the forest.

* * *

Templar came to a few minutes later. Spiked shadows swayed across the room. He opened his mouth, licked his dry lips.

"Uhhh." And then: "Damn." And then: "What bears?"

Something furry was itching at his face. Upon closer examination it was revealed to be a bear pelt. Templar wriggled shook it off his face so he could breathe and see clearly.

_Without getting my hands dirty. Famous last words._

His sword was digging into his back, a great big spiked log was cutting the air a metre above his head, and he was lying in the middle of a cave looking like he was having sex with a goblin.

Just peachy.

He began the long, slow process of unentangling himself from the dead goblin's embrace. After a bit of trouble with the thing's armour (which appeared to be the ribcage of some sort of animal) he stood up, taking care not to get hit by slowly swinging traps or any pointy stalactites.

There was a small ramp leading onto a square raised platform on the left side of the cavern, so Templar edged his way up it and jumped down once he was past the trap.

The trap. It needed a name, really. "The Lumberjack" wasn't really appropriate, as that implied axes and beheadings. "The Butcher" was more about cleaving blades. The "Mortar and Pestle" sounded more like stone blocks, crushing and grinding... Finally, he settled on "The Great Big Dirty Spiked Log Trap." Simple, descriptive, and quite menacing all at the same time.

He dodged another tripwire and entered the next short passageway, doing a quick healing spell, the soothing blue aura enveloping his body. It didn't really make him feel much better - for that, he supposed potions were needed, or at least better magic skills. Ah, well, his body didn't ache _that_ much when compared more serious pains, such as being frozen to death , or dipped in molten lava.

But that was being pessimistic again. _After all I've__been through in the last hour or so, I should probably be grateful that I'm not dead. But if I WERE dead, then at least I'd have Paradise to look forward to – or maybe the burning plains of Oblivion, the way I'm going._

Think happy thoughts! Flowers, kittens and kittens again!

Chocolate, circuses, mime artists-

Damn. Not _mime artists. _Mime artists, with their splayed hands and pale dead faces-

But before Templar could begin arguing with himself again, he emerged into the next larger area. And realised, somewhat belatedly, that he should've been watching out a bit more.

A scream of attack, and the goblin rushed at him with inhuman speed. Templar barely managed to throw himself backwards and the beast's axe swished through the air millimeters from his nose. He fell to the ground heavily as his shield flew out of his hand, and rolled to his feet, fumbling for his sword. The goblin swung again, lunging forward. Templar quickly sidestepped, putting the bonfire that lit the chamber between him and the goblin.

He could see the creature's face twist into a snarl through the dancing flames, given a bit of a dreamlike quality thanks to the heat haze and embers floating through the air. The rest of the chamber was indistinct_,_ the bonfire ruining his night vision.

The goblin came running around the fire. Templar glanced around for an escape, backed into a side passage, kept running. But the passage only led around in a U-shape, opening back into the main chamber. As the goblin raised its axe, Templar raised his sword, trying to block the stroke.

CLANnnnngggggggg!

Sparks flew off the two blades, rebounding off the stone walls. And before Templar could react, the goblin threw itself forwards and the axe lanced across Templar's breastplate.

SCREEEECH-

He shot off a Flare at the goblin, who dodged it with ease. The fireball slammed into the cave wall, blackening the stone where it struck. Templar kept backpedalling – _how the_hell _am I going to kill this thing –_and found himself standing next to a wooden table.

He lashed out with his foot and sent the table cannoning into the goblin. Crude plates and a burning candle clattered across the floor. It fell to the ground, dazed for a second.

Templar took his chance, lifted his sword and swung it downwards. Captain Renault's katana sliced deep into the thing's chest. It struggled for a moment, gasping and crawling forwards, before succumbing to the wound.

_No injuries – check. One dead goblin – check. I think this calls for a__celebration…_

Templar retrieved his shield, and strapped it a little more securely to his arm. There were a few crates piled in one corner of the chamber, filled with arrows and apples and lockpicks. And several dead rats.

He ignored the rats and picked up an apple, bit into it. It was surprisingly good, crisp and juicy. _Wonder where it came from_. He took a few arrows and lockpicks as well, just in case.

Next to the crates of food was a wooden stake sticking up from the ground, a burning torch tied to the top of it. Now that he thought about it, that sort of thing didn't really have a purpose, with the large fire already lighting the chamber.

In fact, the torch looked almost like a marker – like one you'd use to mark a path. He realised he'd seen several more of the stake-mounted torches before, in the log trap chamber and a few more besides. _A path to where? The surface, perhaps?_

Or at least he hoped that was the case. Maybe it was the path to some sort of goblin lair.

Or maybe it wasn't a path at all.

_Well, if it is a path, thank you to any gods that happen to be listening. And thanks for the armour, too. Saved my skin back there._

Prayers, in Templar's opinion, didn't help much. Praying for escape for a month in darkness hadn't helped at all. But regardless, it was good to say these things now and again, to avoid pissing off any higher powers that happened to be listening.

Templar took one last look around the chamber and the side passage to see if he'd missed anything. _Nope. Off we go, then._

He turned left around the next corner, and stopped immediately. He could hear voices, chittering, goblin voices. Two of them, talking to each other. It was odd; the sounds were familiar, and it felt like he'd be able to understand what they were saying, if he could just _remember_. He had no idea why he knew what the goblin language sounded like, but…

Templar peeked around a rather conspicuous pile of heavy logs, and saw two goblins – an archer and a warrior – conversing in their guttural speech at the bottom of the slope.

It must have just been the glint of firelight off his armour, or a dislodged pebble rolling down the incline, but either way, the archer goblin turned his head _and looked straight at him!_

_Think quick, Templar… _

_Me, goblins, logs. First goblin shooting arrow at me-_

Templar recoiled as an arrow slashed past his face and ricocheted off the wall behind him. The second goblin was turning, to see what the other one was suddenly shooting at.

_Sword, magic, one versus two, archer, axe, arrow again-_

The second arrow thwacked into the wood beside his head with a little puff of splinters. The other goblin had drawn his weapon and began running up the slope.

_Bad, damn, not good, goblins, me, logs-_

Logs.

Templar threw himself at the neatly stacked pile of logs beside him. With an ominous groan, the first log rolled forwards... and went tumbling down the slope, hitting the ground with echoing booms, gaining speed. Then the second began to roll, and the third. And then Templar must have freed a log on the bottom of the pile, as the rest of the logs toppled down in one, jangling moment.

Templar noted that this out-of-place pile of logs also looked like a trap, it being placed on top of a slope and all. Maybe the previous goblin was meant to force its prey – _him _– down this slope, and then push the log pile into him; it would've worked, too, if not for a few handy bits of luck.

It seemed an awful lot of effort when an axe to the head would do just as well. The goblins must have _really _wanted to kill something.

In the present, that mass of wood must have looked awfully threatening to the goblins at the bottom of the slope. The first began sprinting away, while the second was a little slower to react.

It was bowled over an instant later, its body battered and broken as the next nine logs crushed its body. The second succumbed soon after, the trap catching up with it as it tripped, pinning it against the far wall.

One by one, the logs piled up against each other at the bottom of the slope, their momentum spent.

Templar cautiously crept down and checked the next room for any other obstacles.

There were bloodstains spattered all over the ground, and the two goblins pulped almost beyond recognition. Templar quickly frisked them for useful items – he wanted to spend as little time frisking bloodied corpses as possible, of only to hold onto his lunch (was it lunchtime? There was no way of knowing) – and found a couple of lockpicks and some arrows. He left their weapons lying on the floor, as he already had his trusty bow and katana.

One bloodstain looked curiously like a smiley face – two splatters for the eyes, and a long wet trail for the mouth. And would you look at that – there was a bit of splintered bone that served as a nose.

Templar managed yet again to tear his mind away from morbid thoughts and settled his gaze on three chests heaped around a stalagmite in the room's centre. Inside he managed to find a couple of lockpicks – he was getting a nice collection of them now – as well as four potions. Count 'em, FOUR. Three weak healing potions and a potion of respite, whatever that was. He checked the finely-inscribed text on the side: _"Restores fatigue upon the user, so that he may continue to fight until the day is done. Note: not fit for consumption by the fairer sex."_

A useful draught, then, if slightly sexist. Anything else inside the chests had rotted away long ago.

He drank a healing potion and the potion of respite – which really did make him feel more energetic – and stuffed the other two healing potions into the back of his belt (which was getting rather heavy), where they had a decent chance of not breaking.

In the corner of the room, he noticed there was another of those path-marking torches. While it wasn't exactly hard to find the right way through the caves, he appreciated the reassurance that he was at least going _somewhere._

Templar continued on through the next curving passageway, keeping to the shadows. And when he reached the next area, he said only one word: "Damn."

The cave was, in a word, enormous. And there were one, two, three, no, FOUR goblins standing at various positions around its perimeter.

Through the gloom, Templar could see that the chamber was essentially rectangular, with various inclines, plateaus and fallen boulders dotted around the sides. A forest of stalactites and tree roots covered the roof, and a couple of enormous, metre-thick rock columns stretched from floor to ceiling in the centre. In the middle of the cave there was a large, two-metre deep pit; Templar couldn't see inside, but he did see the head of a goblin poking above the rim, which was lined with torches and speared skulls. There was also a good-sized rock suspended over the pit from a rope attached to the ceiling. _More traps. GREAT._

There was a rat roasting on a spit to the left of the pit, and the goblins had set up a temporary campsite on the right side, complete with several tents and a large brazier in the centre. Another goblin – this one different from the others – appeared to be guarding a chest over by the far wall, set upon a small stony platform, together with a large cauldron. The floors and walls were slick and moist, worn down by centuries of feet and damp.

_Right, tactics:_ One goblin was patrolling the perimeter of the cave, one was guarding whatever was in the pit, on was sitting over by the campfire to the right, and one special individual was guarding a chest over at the far wall. That one looked bigger than the others, more vicious and more... human.

Templar decided that it wasn't wise to charge out and bull-rush them, as four-to-one odds weren't his kind of chances. And there was no way in oblivion he was going to be able to sneak past all of them. But, here was something: As soon as the patrolling goblin walked past, he'd quickly rush out and stab it, drag the body back into the shadows, then shoot the goblin in the pit with an arrow to the head, get the campfire goblin's attention and draw it away into the darkness somewhere, kill it, and finally engage the special-looking goblin at his leisure.

Things are always, _always_ easier said than done. It was highly unlikely that all four goblins wouldn't notice when one of their brethren was shot/stabbed/maimed and/or killed. Nevertheless, Templar drew his sword, which glinted a little menacingly with reflected firelight.

_This'll all work out. It'll be easy. _Yeah, this'd be easy. He almost managed to convince himself that was true.

_Just focus on the present, 'cause there'll be no future if you don't concentrate. What is it they say about snowballs and hell and chances?_

_If you're a cruel god and want Templar to bumble around in an action scene, continue with block 1._

_If you want to try and be stealthy, go to block 2. It's kind of like choose your own adventure!... except with less random death and only one ending._

* * *

1

Execute Operation Goblin Slayer (Phase 1)!

Templar crouched in the shadows as he waited for the first goblin to walk past his hiding place. Three, two, one-

Templar's arm shot out, taking the goblin completely by surprise. He clamped a hand over the creature's mouth – an icky, slobbery mouth – and dragged it into the darkness.

Templar hadn't really considered that perhaps the goblin would thrash around furiously, trying to escape, axe in hand and flailing madly through the air.

He also never considered that the goblin could lose hold of his axe, which would then soar through the air, spinning gracefully, and land right next to another goblin's feet, down in the pit.

But both of those things happened. The second goblin looked up, and all hell abruptly broke loose.

For the briefest of moments he considered running, but instead swept his sword across his captive's throat. Blood bubbled out of the wound and he let the goblin fall to the ground, felt his body shiver uncontrollably.

_So much for not rushing in. Think quick Templar!_

But there wasn't time to think. The whole 'silent assassin' plan hadn't even worked for one moment, and now he was fighting for his life. Again. _I can't _wait_ to see how I get out of this one,_he thought.

At least there weren't any archers; that was one thing you could cross off this exponentially-growing series of unfortunate events. All of the goblins were armed with were rusty shortswords and daggers, and while one had a leather shield and some leather armour, it didn't look _too_ threatening.

Of course, that was relative. In Templar's eyes, a rusty sword was still pretty goddamned threatening.

The second goblin had climbed out of the pit in the centre of the room, and was now steadily advancing towards him. A third was circling around from the right side, getting ready to charge. The fourth, blissfully, didn't appear to be making any moves from its dark corner. Yet.

_Commence Plan B. _Templar held his katana in a high parrying stance, blade held horizontally across his body at about head height, like he'd seen the Blades do when defending the Emperor not an hour ago. The goblins' most frequent attack was leaping at him with a vicious downward swipe, and some upheld steel seemed like a good defence.

The first goblin leapt, dagger above its head. It clanged against Templar's sword and recoiled away. Templar saw the opening and responded with a series of clumsy cuts and stabs, which the goblin dodged easily.

By now the second goblin was getting ready to attack. It darted forward and sent a thrust scything past Templar's neck, who raised his shield and sent a riposte slashing through the air past the goblin's head.

_Alright, think, dammit! _Templar sidestepped the goblin's next thrust and managed to get out into the open, out of the confines of the entrance passageway. Now he had more room to manoeuvre.

Then a huge weight slammed into his back and he stumbled forward, half-winded.

_The damn goblin hit me in the back!_ Templar staggered upright and whirled around, blocking a series of quick strokes with his shield, the impacts jarring his arm.

A black shape, in the corner of his eye. He whirled around, shield at the ready, and found himself face-to-face with a shortsword. He threw himself backwards, the blade missing his nose by millimeters, tripped backwards and slid across the floor.

_For Akatosh's sake, I'm getting killed out here! _He pushed himself up, sword at the ready. The two goblins circled him, a little more warily now.

_That's right, you bastards, I'm going to bloody KILL you-_

_Kill… Memories, flashing through the darkness. The taste of blood, the glare of the torches, the screams, the swords, the silver…_

Templar took a fighting stance, feet wide apart, one in front of the other, knees bent. He held his shield in front of his chest, sword up high.

One goblin charged. Templar prepared ready to parry the stroke, but then pushed forward and shoulder-charged the goblin, who fell to the ground in pain. Bone crunched. Templar took advantage of the respite and shot a Flare at the downed goblin, which writhed and screamed as the flames consumed its belly.

_Two down, two to go._

The third goblin rejoined the fray. They swung at the same time, swords clashing together in a blaze of sparks. Templar managed to held his ground, muscles locked, and slashed his sword at the goblin's feet, underneath its guard. The blade bit into its legs, but it wasn't a deep wound.

By now Templar was tiring, and half the wretched beasts were still alive. He noticed that the fourth goblin was stalking towards him, making no attempt to hide itself.

It was wearing some kind of robe, and was using the skull of some horned animal as a mask. It was also, mysteriously, holding a staff.

What passed for a goblin chuckle escaped from its lips. It held the staff with both hands, and stabbed it forward.

A white-blue jumble of crackling _electricity_ sizzled through the air towards him.

_Run!_ his mind screamed. Being hit by couple of lightning bolts while wearing some _metal_ armour was not on his list of things to do.

Templar dove to the side, into the handy cover of a thick stalagmite. He saw the lightning shoot past, sparkling, grasping tendrils of energy, and dissipate on the cave wall with an unearthly blue radiance.

Before Templar could recover, another sharp bolt of electricity _slammed_ into the stalagmite, with a starburst of shattered rock.

_This is NOT good. _Templar checked on the other live goblin (which was limping along some way back), peeked around the stalagmite, and flicked his hand forward.

A fireball flew from his palm, speeding through the air at the goblin shaman. It hit it straight in the chest – _nice aim_ – and the goblin staggered back a little, but it didn't appear to have a major effect.

_Sh—t. I didn't make up a Plan C._

He turned his attention back to the remaining goblin warrior. Despite its bleeding leg, it didn't look like it was giving up yet. He quickly parried a thrust with his sword, and whirled around to block a slash with his shield. Templar twisted out of the way as another jumble of lightning screamed past, ducked a wild swing from the second goblin and thumped his shield into its face, giving himself a little breathing room.

Then he had an idea, which was one of the oldest tricks in the book. _But goblins can't read, so I'm probably safe._

He half-heartedly blocked the goblin's next swing, letting it scrape across his armour - then stumbled back a little, appearing to trip. The goblin quickly raised its sword. Templar brought his shield up to block, but not in time-

Templar swayed sideways, all pretence of tiredness gone, and lanced Captain Renault's katana straight through the goblin's heart.

_Slick moves. Perhaps the Captain would've approved of that._

But there was no time for celebration. As Templar ducked for cover, yet another lightning bolt crackled across the cave. _Three down, only one to go. Even if the last one has a bloody lightning staff._

Templar sneaked a quick look around the couple of large boulders he'd been hiding behind. The shaman was still standing there, holding his staff across his chest.

Templar didn't know which one of them was more surprised when he charged at the goblin with his sword. A bolt of lightning lanced from the head of its staff and seared through the air past his face. _Tell me, brain, when was this _ever_ a good idea! _The second bolt came straight at him, and he had to try and block it with his wooden shield. The electricity slammed into it with amazing force-

And then the shield broke. _CRACK!_

The wood split right down the middle, edges smouldering and burning, leaving him with a useless bit of wood hanging off his arm.

But Templar kept running, managed to reach the shaman without being zapped, desperately swiped at its chest. The goblin blocked him with the butt of its staff, hissed angrily, swung back. He parried-

Suddenly, shockingly, Captain Renault's katana broke.

Templar thought he could hear distant screams as he stared at the broken blade in his hand. He reversed his grip and attempted to smash the hilt into his enemy's face, but a whack from the staff sent him sprawling across the rocky ground. He came to a rest next to the second piece of the katana.

For some reason, this made him very angry. _You broke her sword! She died for her Emperor, and you broke her f—king sword!_

All the trials, all the frustration and hurt of the last few hours hit him, all at once. He was beyond anger. Beyond fury. All that was left was cold, hard detachment, and a desire to kill the creature before him and rip its body to pieces. Templar threw the two pieces of the blade at the goblin's head, and missed with both of them.

The he charged, hoping to get inside magic range and do some damage with his bare hands. To Templar's shock, the goblin reversed its grip on the staff and rammed the haft of it into his belly. Armour or no armour, the force of the blow lifted him from his feet and sent him sprawling backwards for the second time in ten seconds.

He lay on his back, head striking the cold stone hard enough to blast light into his eyes. The goblin's strike had driven the air from his lungs. Pain radiated from one jarred hip.

He waited for the death blow, or the lightning that would end his life. _Strange, to go from fury to acceptance._

The lightning came, but not death. A stream of electricity slammed into his body, setting his nerve endings ablaze. Pure pain coursed through his body, legs jolting, steam rising from his skin. For a brief moment, Templar's mind fled to a place far away.

Back to the present. Lying on the cold stone ground, twitching, head pounding, scream caught in his throat. Then another bolt, unbelievable pain. _AAAARRGH-_

-skitter skitter-

That sound. He recognised that sound. _Seriously? _He asked the gods. _A rat. A bloody rat. What a way to end a life, being eaten by a bloody rat._

But there was no tickling touch of wet whiskers on his body, no slither of a ratty tail. In fact, there was a loud curse from the very creature he had been trying to kill.

A rat was nibbling at the toes of the goblin shaman, squeaking as the goblin tried to kick it away.

In the fog of pain and surprise, Templar somehow had an idea. He unhooked the poison of illness from his belt and threw it at the shaman's head.

This time, his aim was straight and true. The thin glass shattered on impact, spraying a foul green liquid all over the goblin's face as it was distracted by the rodent at its feet. For a moment, nothing happened. Then it started gagging, spitting, clawing its eyes, vomit spewing out of its mouth.

Templar pushed himself to his feet, stumbled, picked up the broken hilt of Captain Renault's sword and walked over to where the goblin lay, curled up on the ground. The rat skittered away at his approach.

_"This is for Captain Renault,"_ he growled, stabbing the broken edge of the sword into the goblin's eye.

It shrieked, a pitiful wail that almost made him drop the weapon. But he held.

_"And this… is for ME."_

He twisted it, grinding against the bone of its eye socket and gouging shredded tissue from the goblin's face.

Templar swayed sideways, vision spinning. Pain, satisfaction, relief, darkness filled his mind. Collapsing. The ground came closer, and closer-

_Skip past the next section, to the continuation of the main story (which is helpfully titled 'Main Story')._

* * *

2

Execute Operation Goblin Slayer (Phase 1)!

Templar crouched in the shadows and waited for the first goblin to walk past his hiding place. _Three two one-_

His arm shot out, taking the goblin completely by surprise. He clamped a hand over the creature's mouth – it was an icky, slobbery mouth – and dragged it into the darkness.

Raise sword, reverse grip, plunge downwards.

Blood fountained from the fatal wound. After a brief moment of struggle, the goblin lay still. Templar dragged the body back down the passage a little and let it slump to the floor. _Good riddance._

Execute Phase Two. Nothing had gone wrong yet, which was a nice change.

Templar reached for his bow, and with the other hand fetched an arrow from his quiver. He selected one of the less... bent ones and notched it to the string, sighting down the shaft at the head of the goblin in the pit. It was bobbing around a little, be he reckoned that he could make the shot.

Pull back, sight, breathe out, release… _Twannnngggggg!_

The first arrow missed, but the second flew straight and true, hitting the goblin in the ear and sending it to Oblivion.

_Not a bad shot, if I say so myself._

By now one of the remaining goblins had noticed his comrades' silence, and was slowly making his way around the fire at the right side of the chamber, sniffing the air – but for the moment, Templar was still safe. He crept around the edge of the cavern, taking cover behind rock formations and boulders wherever he could, before stopping in the darkness by the edge of the goblin campsite (just out of the circle of firelight).

This would require finesse, skill, and the ability to be totally hardcore.

The goblin was leaning over the pit, but hadn't yet noticed the dead goblin lying on the bottom. Templar sprang from the shadows, sword still sheathed. He grabbed its neck, yanked it backwards, shoved his right hand into its back and let fly with a Flare. A big one, too; he must've been getting better with all the practice.

The fireball exploded out through the goblin's chest, excavating a hole in its ribcage and blasting charred flesh into the air. In a clever move, Templar had aimed his fireball so that it was absorbed by the larger fire in the centre of the campsite.

_Three down, one to go. Easy._

Templar sneaked a quick peek around the nearest goblin tent, pulled out his sword. He began stalking towards his prey.

Then he tripped, and fell flat on his face with a loud clatter of armour and weaponry.

Templar looked up.

The goblin shaman (or Templar, at least, guessed it was some sort of wizard, thanks to the staff and tattered robes it was wearing) was standing there, holding his staff across its chest.

Templar didn't know which one of them was more surprised when he charged at the creature with his sword held high. A bolt of lightning suddenly lanced from the head of its staff and soared 1through the air past his face. _Sh—t! I didn't expect freaking lightning-_

Getting hit by a lightning bolt in metal armour would be the _end_ for him.

He was quick enough to make sure the thing didn't get another shot off, and it was forced to draw a rusty sword out from beneath its robes. Then, the goblin began charging at _him._ Its sword swung down-

Templar had to prop his shield above his head to block a series of powerful blows. The goblin kept smashing its sword into Templar's shield, and as his arm began to tire, he raised his own sword to help ward off the attack.

And then he realised that he'd left himself open for a crushing counter-attack. Before he could react, before he could bring his shield down, the goblin thrust its rusty sword right into Templar's shoulder. He suppressed the scream that was about to emerge and desperately raised his shield to block the next overhand blow, pierced muscles screaming in protest.

And then his shield broke. _CRACK!_

The wood and leather split down the middle, leaving him with half a splintered shield. Templar backpedalled frantically and cradled his injured arm. _How unfortunate, to be stabbed right between the gaps in my armour._

He gripped his sword with two hands, to try and offset his injured shoulder. Every movement sent a fresh jolt of agony. He managed to send a few quick probing cuts at the goblin's chest, but they were all turned away by its leather armour. The goblin hacked. Templar parried. Their swords met in a shriek of metal-

And locked together hilt-to-hilt, each creature trying to overpower the other. Templar could see that this was not going to end well.

But he had a plan. _Dear Akatosh, I hope this works. _He took his right hand off the hilt of the sword, straining to hold it with his left, and began to think of fire.

Little streams of orange light swirled around his hands at almost a leisurely pace. It began to glow. Flames licked from his palm. Templar dropped his sword and clamped his hand onto the goblin's wrist, holding it at bay.

The goblin saw what was happening and pulled itself sideways, just in time to dodge the ball of fire that streamed from Templar's palm.

_Shit! Of all the times to miss-_

The goblin went back on the offensive. And just when things couldn't get any worse, Templar tripped. Again. He fell flat on his back, and rolled to the side as the goblin's sword stabbed downwards.

_CLANG!_ Flecks of rust sprayed from the weapon as it slammed the ground.

_CLANG!_Templar rolled.

_CLANG!_

_CLANG!_

Thunk. Templar blocked the last blow with his pitiful remnant of a shield and lashed out with his foot, catching the goblin's knee and tripping it. He stood up, a little unsteadily, and scanned the floor for his sword. _There!_

He managed to sweep it up, but was too late to avoid being grabbed by two goblinny arms and slammed into the nearest wall.

He fought for breath, legs kicking the air, pinned by the creature's arm. Blood trickled from his shoulder as he struggled.

Templar did the only thing he could: kicked the goblin with all his might, right between the legs._A dirty trick, to be sure, but at the moment I don't freaking care. _The goblin shaman squealed in pain and dropped to the floor.

Templar didn't feel the least bit sorry for it as he collapsed against the wall. The goblin managed to lash out yet again with its sword from where it was curled up on the ground, hissing furiously, and Templar almost tiredly stretched out to parry.

Suddenly, shockingly, Captain Renault's katana broke. It wasn't even a hard swing, but blade had splintered into two.

Templar shivered as he stared at the broken weapon. He reversed his grip and attempted to smash the hilt into the shaman's face, but was pushed away.

_You bastard! You broke the f—king sword! _

_Also! You stabbed me in the shoulder! _

He wasn't quite sure which was worse. Captain Renault would probably have complained more about her shattered katana, but his shoulder did hurt _quite _a lot.

Regardless, the shaman had to die – quickly and painfully. Templar threw the two pieces of the blade at the goblin's head, missing with both of them.

The creature had managed to stand, and still had a hold of its own sword. Against Templar's bare hands, it was no contest. There was no time to pull out his bow. The goblin lunged forwards, and the tip of its sword raked across Templar's cheek, drawing blood. He blinked furiously, wiped his face.

_Just a shallow scratch. Lucky._

He threw another flare at the goblin, but the constant magic use was draining his energy. The fire didn't seem as intense as it had before, and the shaman dodged it easily. It lunged at him again, this time with a foot, which impacted with his stomach and sent him sprawling, knocking the wind from his lungs. His head struck the cold stone hard enough to blast light into his eyes. Pain radiated from the centre of his body.

That was almost the end. He groaned, got to his feet with mindless desperation, waiting for a death blow... that never came. Instead, there was a strange noise.

-skitter skitter-

A ratty noise.

_Are you serious?_ he asked the gods. _I don't exactly need something else to fight! Is it my destiny, to be finished off by a rat?_

Another noise, a guttural angry voice. A goblin noise. Templar opened his eyes.

_Or perhaps I'll be saved by one. _A rat was nibbling at the toes of the goblin shaman, squeaking and chittering as the goblin tried to kick it away.

In the fog of pain and surprise, Templar somehow had an idea. He unhooked the poison of illness from his belt and threw it at the shaman's head.

His aim was good, for once. The thin glass shattered on impact, spraying a foul green liquid all over the goblin's face as it was distracted by the rodent at its feet. For a moment, nothing happened. Then it started gagging, spitting, clawing its eyes, vomit spewing out of its mouth.

Templar picked up the broken hilt of Captain Renault's sword and walked over to where the goblin lay, curled up on the ground. The rat skittered away at his approach.

_"This is for Captain Renault,"_ he growled, stabbing the broken edge of the sword into the goblin's eye.

It shrieked, a pitiful wail that almost made him drop the weapon. But he held.

_"And this… is for ME."_

He twisted it, grinding against the bone of its eye socket and gouging shredded tissue from the goblin's face.

Templar swayed sideways, vision spinning. Pain, satisfaction, relief, darkness filled his mind. Collapsing. The ground came closer, and closer-

_Continue reading._

* * *

Main Story

"Oh gods, healmehealmehealme…"

Templar uncapped one of his healing potions with shaking fingers and poured the contents into his mouth, pink droplets sliding down his chin. Cuts and scrapes began to heal, and wounds both inside and out began to close, flesh knitting itself back together. He felt a little of his strength return, and the aches in his chest and bones started to fade. He rolled to the side and retched, bile and half-digested fruit liquid pooling beside his head.

_Damn, if I could see myself right now…_

_I wish I could go back in time and say to my past self, "Hey you. Don't do whatever it is you're gonna do! Otherwise, in sixty days' time, you'll be lying half-dead in some stupid cave and vomiting your guts out."_

_Sigh. _He drank another healing potion, and heaved himself up to a sitting position, edging away from the vomit.

Relief, anger, sadness and countless other emotions all mixed in Templar's mind into one great wall of feeling. Near-death, the Emperor's flight, joy at being alive, a broken sword, fate…

_To be saved by a rat - the tables were turned, it seemed. Not that it would prevent him from killing every other rat he saw, of course, but he'd always have a soft spot for the Rat That Saved Him From Death._

Where was the rat now?

He looked around, and saw it chittering to another four rats over in the corner that had appeared out of the stonework. The rats turned, and began streaming towards him.

_You're kidding, right? They're not going to attack__ME, are they?_

_Gods, if I could just cast a really BIG fireball right now and blast the whole lot of them to ash..._

He remembered the searing heat of the Flare, the way it almost blistered your hand. Yes, all you had to do was put your fingers together like _this_ and flick your wrist like _this_ and throw your arm forward like _this,_but change it a little, so that you raised your arm like a signpost_-_

_And imagine fire. More fire. A burning, screaming BLAZE._

A medium-sized fireball whipped forth and detonated in the middle of the rat-pack, and sent the beasts flying in an almost comical sight. Burning rat soared through the air. One of them seemed to still be alive as it landed, but decided to run straight into the bonfire crackling in the middle of the cavern. _Perhaps I'm a psychopath, but that makes me smile. _

The new fire-spell took a fair bit out of him, but definitely made up for it with greater damage. _Just have to make sure I don't miss. _He wouldn't be surprised it could melt stone, if you tried hard enough.

Templar decided to examine his surroundings a little more closely; he hadn't had time to look for any cool loot when he was fighting for his life, and it would be a shame to miss any valuables after fighting so gods-damned hard for them.

First, the goblin campsite. He ignored the dead goblins in its centre, instead focusing on the three scrappy tents arranged around the bonfire. Simple constructions of rope and canvas, they were empty apart from a few dirty bedrolls. A couple of skulls hung from the ceiling of the cave, above a metal brazier and a few broken crates. He picked up one of the fallen goblin warriors' shields, to replace his broken one.

He walked over to the pit and descended down an uneven ramp to the bottom. It contained what was essentially a livestock pen – _for rats, perhaps?_ – which was now empty, and another large bonfire. The fences had been constructed from pointy sticks crudely lashed together, and didn't look particularly secure. There was a bowl of water and a few scraps of meat inside the pen, but otherwise, nothing.

Moving on. He walked clockwise around the edge of the pit, passing a few speared skulls and torches as he did so, as well as a rat roasting over a small fire. _Hm, maybe the goblins had set all these traps to catch rats... but they were still a little too elaborate for that._

In the far left corner of the cave there was a little stone outcropping, which was bathed in sunlight from a small sinkhole that led up to the ground above. So close, and yet so far away…

There as a huge stalagmite that speared towards the ceiling in the centre of the outcropping, which was bordered by another simple wooden fence. There were a few crates, barrels and a bear trap scattered around it, and an oaken chest. Templar opened it.

Inside were three lockpicks, a smith's hammer and an iron longsword. The sword was barely rusted, and still had a nice sheen to it. _A poor substitute for an Akaviri katana, but _ – he hefted the blade and took a few experimental swings - _at least I'm fully equipped again._

The smith's hammer he left in the chest. That would've been helpful _if _he'd been a blacksmith and _if _there was a forge just lying around the place, but unfortunately both of those things weren't happening. And besides, he had enough to carry around already without picking up every useful thing he saw.

He walked over a small rise and to the area that the shaman had been guarding, back in the distant past. The place was ringed with skulls of all shapes and sizes, and there was a whole _cauldron_ filled with... bones. More than a few of them were human. Templar ignored the smell and opened the nearby chest with a lockpick.

Inside was a goblin treasure trove. Sapphires, rubies, topaz, gold coins, a couple of gold nuggets, a tarnished silver vase and another smith's hammer awaited him. _I can see why they were guarding it. Must've taken a while to collect all this._He stuffed the gold and jewels into the remaining pockets in his tunic, leaving the vase. It was far too awkward to carry, and anyway, gold was more valuable.

Last thing: the goblin's staff. Templar wrenched it from the dead creature's hands and examined it more closely. It was cold to the touch, and the haft was of gnarled wood, which split into spiralling 'branches' at the top. The branches encased a milky-white ball of glass, glowing faintly. Oddly, the shaman's corpse was bathed in light from another hole in the ceiling that led to the surface; Templar kicked it away, down into the pit. _If anything, that beast should have died in darkness, not blessed with the some of the only sunlight in these caves._

_Isn't it weird, the things that we care about?_

In the end, he left the staff. He didn't really want to touch the thing, and he remembered that staves only held a finite number of charges anyway – even if those charges could be incredibly damaging.

There was another path-marking torch outside the entrance to a small passage, next to the cauldron of bones. Templar assumed it was the way out. He took one last look at the cavern, and then left it behind forever.

He trudged up the steep slope of the passageway, lost in his own thoughts. There was a tight, S-shaped bend, and then a left turn into a wider, almost mineshaft-like corridor. Old support beams held up the roof, and a little sunlight snuck in through regularly-spaced vents. At the end of the hall there was a rotting wooden door.

Only one thing was for certain. Well, not certain, but close to it.

_I'm getting closer and closer to the end of these caves. And soon I'll emerge through the darkness, and into the light of day._

* * *

_EDITED on 2/7/2011: Rewrote a every second sentence to fix awkward writing, continuity problems, and improve general readability. Boy, I was a pretty dodgy writer back in Year 9..._


	5. Premonitions

_Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, people. The only problem is that now I have to live up to your expectations. Now, the good thing about the multiple story paths is that I can make everyone happy - if you don't like something, or have a cool idea (god knows I could use some of those), feel free to make suggestions and I can always add something in. I also apologise for the lengthy descriptions about unimportant rooms, but I guess it's better than making everything a bland grey box._

_EDIT:_ _T__ook out one of the dialogue choices as it is essentially redundant (you get the same information whichever one you choose, just in a different order)._

Premonitions

_**Imperial Subterrane, Under the Imperial City, Last Seed 27 3E433**_

_Yeah, I'm on a roll now. Move aside, people, Templar's coming to town!_

Templar's newfound happiness was partly due to the fact that he was in man-made surroundings again, and partly due to the 'happy juice' effects of downing several healing potions. And besides, he'd miraculously survived a meeting with four angry goblins, so what's not to like? _Besides, of course, smacking my head into the ceiling THREE BLOODY TIMES in the last five minutes._

The walls of the tunnel had progressed into smooth stone, thick square blocks stuck together with crumbling mortar; while the ground and the all-too-low ceiling were still just the exposed cavern surface, at least _something_ had changed. Templar went up a short incline, rounded the corner (feeling his way through the blue-tinted gloom), and saw something that made his heart leap in excitement.

One section of wall had half-collapsed at the far end of the small room before him. The missing blocks formed an irregular opening that led into the area beyond. And from that area, Templar heard voices.

Human voices. Male, but the exact words were indistinct. _Friends, perhaps? _

He drew his sword just in case, and crept over to the hole.

Beyond was a large, pillared room. Templar was above one of the large raised areas to either side, which stood a couple of metres above the main path that ran through the centre. Again, the chamber looked very old and unused, with cracks spidering through the pillars and bricks missing from the walls. At each end of the path small metal doors, covered in a thin layer of grit and slime.

Small alcoves had been carved into the rock to either side of the room, up on the raised sections, containing crumbling statues of gods and heroes. The ceiling was buttressed by thick, soaring arches, cobwebs stretching from vault to vault. There were also several shafts in the roof, leading all the way to the surface, lighting the room with soft yellow beams. Dust swirled in the cold air.

The voices were clearer here. In fact-

"We should find a defensive spot and protect the Emperor until help arrives."

_Yes!_ He could _swear_ that was the voice of one of the Emperor's guards – not Baurus, the other one. _I suppose it was kind of obvious from the way he said 'protect the EMPEROR', but still…_

"Help?" someone replied scornfully. "What makes you think help will get here before more of those bastards? We need to get out of here, and quickly."

_And there it is. _Templar never thought that he'd have been glad to hear Baurus' voice, but… damn it, he was. The sight of a few friendly faces and a few extra swords (and men who actually knew how to use them) was _extremely _heartwarming. He actually felt like forgiving the guard for being such a dick to him earlier, and maybe even forgiving the Emperor for kicking him out to survive on his own. _But really, shouldn't I be thanking the Emperor for giving me the chance to be free, no matter how slim that chance is?_

But before he could consider what to do next, a pair of those gods-damned assassins jumped from two of the alcoves and attacked the Emperor's men.

A flash of red, a clash of steel. Panicked shouts as Baurus and the other Blade moved forward, silence from the assassins, boots scraping on the rock.

Templar considered helping them, but decided he'd let them go through a little pain. It seemed like the guards were handling things well enough – as he watched, one of them dodged a thrust, counterattacked with a slice into an assassin's leg – and, well, _I've risked my life enough for one day. _

Baurus quickly dispatched one of the assassins, knocking him senseless, and kicked the other down the stairs. The second Blade ran after him and stabbed his sword downwards, into the fallen assassin's chest.

The heavy armour of each attacker swirled back into simple red robes as soon as they hit the ground, with an accompanying puff of light.

_Right. Now that that's over… I may as well surprise the bastards. _

_Guess who's back, back, back,_

_Back again, -gain, -gain,_

_Templar's back, back, back,_

_Tell a friend, friend, friend…_

Ahem.

Templar leapt off the balcony, sword drawn, screaming like a banshee – _"JEEEAARRGHGH!"_ – and landed before the two Blades, breathing heavily, a mad grin on his face.

To his credit, the Emperor didn't even bat an eyelid.

Baurus, however, did. In fact, he seemed rather annoyed. "Dammit, it's that prisoner again! He could be working with the assassins-"

_Whoa whoa whoa, this is getting out of hand! Must defuse the situation with a remark carefully chosen to annoy as much as possible. _"Baurus! I thought you'd be _glad_ to see me," Templar said, smiling.

"I'd never be glad to see _you_, prisoner," Baurus retorted.

"I have a name, you know. It would be considered polite to use it."

"_Polite?_ What exactly were you thinking, jumping out like that?"

_Hm. What _was_ I thinking? ...Not much, I suppose._

Baurus turned to the other guard, who had been standing there looking rather amused. "We need him _out_ of here. He's endangering the Emperor's life."

The second guard reluctantly drew his sword, turned towards him. Templar stepped back a little. He'd been expecting a bit of a…_warmer _reception, to be honest, and the whole 'lowly prisoner' thing was getting rather irritating. _Of course, technically I _am_ a lowly prisoner, but- _"Look, Baurus," he said exasperatedly. "I've been through _hell_ to get here. Am I on some sort of 'The Realm's Most Wanted list or something? Is _that_ why everyone wants be dead? Especially you?"

Baurus laughed. "That's closer to the truth than you might think, prisoner. But – either way, I don't care. You have turned up at EXACTLY the same time in EXACTLY the same place just as assassins have tried to kill the Emperor. Twice. You just don't get it, do you? The Emperor is the last of the Septim line. His sons are dead. We are being _hunted_. If he dies, the Dragonfires will go out, and the Empire - will - _fall._"

Then the Emperor raised a hand. It was like magic, how they all fell silent. "No," he said calmly. "He is not one of them."

The other guard sheathed his sword. Baurus glared at him.

"He can help us," the Emperor continued, his voice laboured and soft. "He _must_ help us."

"As you wish, sire." Baurus sighed and turned away.

_Be like that, then. Turn away. Not that I care. _Templar thought he could use a bit of help and support, and two of the only people available to give it were actively trying to kill him.

"What do you mean by 'must?'" Templar asked cautiously. He didn't like the sound of that; it sounded eerily like fate, or destiny, and stuff like that made his blood boil. A life, out of control, changed by an Emperor's words.

Then again, it was an improvement on being killed. The Emperor grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him into the corner, behind the stump of a broken pillar, oblivious to the whispering of his Blades and the surprise in Baurus' eyes.

"They cannot understand why I trust you," the Emperor said, insistent, urgent. He grasped Templar's shoulders, a little too hard. "They've not seen what I've seen. How can I explain?" He sighed, and paused. "Listen. You know the Nine? How they guide our fates with an invisible hand?"

If you say, _"Yes. The Nine guide and protect us," _go to the first block of text.

If you say, _"I'm not on good terms with the Gods," _go to the second block of text.

If you say, _"I don't know. I don't think about it," _go to the third block of text.

* * *

1

"Yes," Templar said, against his better judgement. "The Nine guide and protect us. They hold our fates, and the fate of the world, in the palms of their hands. Or so it's said."

"Hmph. I can sense your reluctance. But you should not shy away from the truth. I have served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens."

_So what is the truth? That everything I've done was preordained? That I was _meant_ to spend a month in a tiny, dark cell, body and mind slowly rotting away? That the fate of the Empire lies in the patterns of distant fiery suns? _Templar had to suppress a smile.

Nevertheless, the Emperor continued: "The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well, and I wonder… Which sign marked your birth?"

The Emperor had this unnerving way of looking into your eyes, and seeming to know your whole life story just from one glance. Perhaps that glance would be slightly more welcoming if Templar at least pretended to believe.

_Continue with the main story._

* * *

2

"I'm not on good terms with the Gods," Templar laughed bitterly.

"Your circumstances may have changed your perception. I cannot blame you, although I urge you to be a little more accepting. I have served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens."

His _circumstances_? Oh, they'd changed his perception all right. Frankly, the Gods could leave him alone. He didn't believe in that religious nonsense, anyway. _And w__hat a life,_ Templar thought to himself. _Serving the gods. I wonder if they ever give you anything in return?_

Nevertheless, the Emperor continued: "The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well, and I wonder… Which sign marked your birth?"

_A birthsign is just a birthsign. It doesn't change anything. _But the Emperor had this unnerving way of looking into your eyes, and seeming to know your whole life story just from one glance.

_Continue with the main story._

* * *

3

"I don't know. I don't think about it." Templar kept his expression carefully neutral. But it was true; Templar lived his life, and the Gods lived theirs. Everyone was happy. Except, of course, all the lowly creatures of Nirn often weren't, mired in their day-to-day drudgery and the occasional bit of poverty and war. Occasional happiness too, of course, but…

To tell the truth, a bit of divine intervention would've been useful during that dark month past, although the Emperor seemed to think that someone had already interfered with his – and the Emperor's – affairs, by chancing them to meet…

"I promise you," replied the Emperor after a time, "that I think about the Gods almost every waking hour of my life. I have served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens. The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well, and I wonder… Which sign marked your birth?"

The Emperor had this unnerving way of looking into your eyes, and seeming to know your whole life story just from one glance. Templar had a weird feeling that the man already knew his birthsign, and every other tiny detail of his existence.

_Continue with the main story._

* * *

Main Story

The thing was, his birthsign had always embarrassed him when he was a child. He'd received constant ridicule from his fellow classmates, who'd all seemed to have been born in more, shall we say… _manly_ months.

"The Lady," he answered tiredly.

"Interesting," the Emperor mused. _Oh, I'm sure it is. _"But the signs I read show the end of my path. My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come. Perhaps soon, sooner than I would prefer."

"What?" Templar half-shouted. "Weren't we discussing _my_ signs? You're going to _die!_" _You aren't going to leave me here again, are you?_

"Your stars are not clear; your fate is twisted by many different desires. But for today at least, the Lady will fortify you in your quest for glory. As for me, my stars are shining all too dimly…"

"That's not what I _meant_," Templar muttered to himself. _Fortify me. That's a new one. Usually it was 'You're such a girl, Templar!' or 'Need any help doing your makeup?' _He fumed silently_. And I don't want to go on a quest for _glory_. A few hot meals and a decent bed is more than enough for my unimportant existence._

The Emperor was creating more questions than answers, but Templar pressed on. "What about me? Can you see my fate?"

"My dreams grant me no opinions of success; their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death. But in your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness. With such hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied."

_So… the Emperor thinks he's going to die soon. And he beholds Akatosh in_ my_ face. What a twisted world we live in. _"If you're going to die… aren't you afraid? To face the realisation, but knowing you can do nothing…" Templar knew that he'd been afraid, when was taken to the black cells with not even memories for company.

"No trophies of my triumphs precede me," the Emperor said wearily. The lines on his face seemed more pronounced, now. Then he lifted his shoulders a little more, stood a little straighter. "My rule has not been one that will be rendered eternal in songs and histories. But I have lived well, and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this, I am blessed to see the hour of my death… To face my apportioned fate, then fall."

"A blessing. I imagine it would be more of a curse," Templar replied. He suddenly felt an overwhelming respect for this man, who had been through so much hardship, and even faced the hour of his death with strength and courage. A distant figure, a ruler, an ideal, suddenly close – standing right in from of him in fact. _The Emperor, right in front of me. Accepting of the end, whenever it may be. _"Where are we going? To the surface, or down some other secret passage?"

Templar had been expecting a straight answer for once, but all he got was more mysterious words.

"I go to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for a while, but then we must part."

"I meant, where are we actually going, in a kind of LITERAL sense-"

The Emperor turned and walked to the door, giving him one last glance. When Templar hesitated, he beckoned. "Come with me. With us. Your destiny is bound up with mine, and the fate of Tamriel itself."

_Well, when you put it like _that… It was an offer he couldn't refuse. There was the mention of a greater destiny again – and, more importantly, the prospect of some help through the neverending underground caverns.

Baurus roughly shouldered him aside as he took up his position beside the Emperor. "The Emperor may trust you, but I don't. Stay out of our way."

_Ah, well. No love there._

The second guard was kinder. "You may as well make yourself useful. Carry this and stick close." He handed him a torch from his belt. Templar looked around for his own, but evidently he'd lost it during his travels. The guard leant close, and whispered in Templar's ear. "But as Baurus said, stay out of our way – if not for the Emperor's safety, then at least for your own sake. Baurus can be a little aggressive."

Templar couldn't agree more. "Thanks. Uh, by the way – what's your name? I dislike having to refer to you as 'the second guard' all the time."

"Glenroy." The Blade winked at him. Baurus, as always, scowled.

The hinges of the door rasped as they opened, sending shivers down his spine. Baurus stepped through, promptly followed by the Emperor, with a regal swish of robes. Glenroy – _ah, that's nice_ – brought up the rear.

Wait, no, T_emplar_ brought up the rear. As always. _Oh well, at least things are looking up. _Although it was more than a little ominous, how the Emperor said he was going to die.

They went down a short passage, through another wooden door, stepped over the body of a dead goblin. The air seemed to be getting less stale, the corners a bit less cobwebbed. Orange torchlight created a small pool of radiance amidst the stony walls and twisting corridors. Trudging through a tall, two-story hall, all vaulted ceilings and long oak benches, Templar thought he might ask another question. He tapped Baurus on the shoulder. "Exactly what is the situation here? I feel that I have the right to know."

"I think that you're wrong, prisoner," Baurus replied sourly, voice echoing. "But, yes, against my better judgement – you'd be more helpful if you actually knew what was going on." He sighed. "We're the Emperor's bodyguards, the Blades. Our job is to get him out of situations like this. Although, I admit that things are not going according to plan."

"I _knew_ that," Templar retorted angrily. "Especially the 'not going to plan' bit. I'm not a complete idiot."

"Then how about this. Your job is to shut up, and my job is to make sure the Emperor gets out of here alive, and _I_ _intend to do it_."

Glenroy nudged him. "There's no time to talk now, prisoner. We've got to keep moving. I can't tell you where we're going, for the sake of secrecy, but once we're out of here alive we'll talk as much as you want."

Templar grudgingly accepted his answer. As much as he hated to admit it, the fate of the Empire was actually more important than his own personal needs. _But only just._

The next room was a little oddly shaped. It was essentially square, but one half (which Templar stood on) was raised above the other by a couple of metres, like a stone platform. The bottom section was divided into two by a thick wall down the centre, and a stone stairway descended to the lower level in a spiralling fashion. Rounded pillars supported the arching roof, which was once again festooned with cobwebs. More shafts to the surface let in some light; large window-like apertures circled around the top of the room.

Templar's eyes caught on a chest that sat off to the side. As they walked past, he was half-tempted to dart across and open it – but didn't. It would've been silly, and Baurus would probably have been annoyed. _And we don't want that. _They tramped down the stairs and towards the exits – an arched corridor to the left and a wooden door to the right. The Emperor seemed to know which way he was going, as he turned towards-

It was a cacophony of sound, a world of confusion. Before Templar could react, two assassins had leapt down from the alcoves in the walls and drawn their swords. But despite the suddenness, Templar's mind was working in perfect clarity.

The assassin closest to him fell through the air, axe held high. He landed on the ground with a loud crash, knees bending, springing back up, running towards the Emperor.

_CLANG – shing! – "Assassins!" – Thwack – scrape – slap __**slap**__ slap – "This one's mine!"_

Baurus ran forwards, Glenroy close behind, into the fray. Templar drew his sword, and was surprised to see the Emperor pull one out from under his robes. _Pretty good for an old man_.

"The Emperor is in danger!"

_You're not serious._ _I mean, honestly, he's being attacked by freaking assassins-_

The first assassin had noticed him, standing by the wall, helmeted gaze snapping towards him. Templar cautiously circled around, adrenalin pumping through his veins. Light glinted off the blade of the axe. He twitched, stepped forwards, then Baurus rushed up behind and stabbed the attacker in the back.

"Hey! That was mine!" Templar shouted.

"Quiet, prisoner! You were taking too long! More are on their way."

He was right. Another assassin had rushed into the room from the corridor to the left, heading straight for the Emperor. He swung hard with a vicious spiked mace and the Emperor leant back, pushing it aside with his sword, robes dragging around his feet. Templar felt his muscles begin to catch up, began running forwards. He was about to throw a fireball when the Emperor killed his assailant with a disemboweling thrust.

_Damn him._ The Emperor wasn't even breathing heavily. It made Templar feel terribly inadequate.

Over by the far wall, Glenroy had managed to disable the last assassin with a sword through the neck. Blood dribbled out, soaking the man's armour – _no, red robes._

Templar caught his breath. Baurus swept past, shaking his head. "They're coming faster, attacking us openly, and we can't risk another ambush," he said. The Blade was frustrated. "We have to push forwards, as quick as we can. Outrun them, if nothing else. If we can just get out of the subterrane-"

Glenroy nodded. "Agreed. Sire, this way. You too, prisoner."

The Emperor strode forwards, sword held in one hand. "Not much farther," he told Templar as he walked past.

They went through the wooden door, half-jogging, on the lookout for any attack. Templar followed, glancing behind him nervously. They went through the corridor, turning left, turning right, then _shing!_

Another storm. To Templar it seemed a whirlwind of swords, a desperate race to get the Emperor to safety.

Templar glanced around, searching for threats. This room was small and rectangular, and joined to the next by three short, parallel corridors. Small adjoining chambers were accessible from each corner, dark and dim. _Multiple attack routes and hiding spots - my favourite._

"Die, you scum!"

One assassin jumped out of one dark corner, while the other charged out of a corridor.

"Draw your swords! To battle!"

Baurus and Glenroy ran forward to meet them, a lightning blast discharging from somewhere and smashing into a pillar. Templar jogged blindly towards the noise and almost ran into one of the assassins, blocking an overhand swing in a blaze of sparks. There was a swirl of red and one fell to Glenroy's sword, while Baurus backed into one of the corridors, retreating from the second. The Emperor was about to help when two more assassins crashed in, seemingly from nowhere.

Templar was dimly aware that he'd Flash Bolted someone, and that they'd slammed into the ground. There was an open passageway behind him and he tried to dash sideways and get his back to a wall. The Emperor was battling with the grace of a dancer, keeping one assassin at bay with a flash of metal. Baurus was yelling something, managed to shoulder one assassin aside and slashed across his chest.

"For the Blades!"

Glancing blows came out of the shadows. More blood, a bit more yelling, a few sparks, and Templar somehow found himself about to stab his sword into the last assassin's helmet.

_And we push forward._

There was the dull thunk of metal hitting bone, and then the sharp clang of metal hitting metal. Templar pulled his sword from the man's helmet and dreamily watched him swirl into the form of a priest, collapsing to the floor in a spurt of crimson. _Safe. All safe. All alive._

___Hey, you might even call it divine intervention. A miracle, perhaps._

Baurus came up and patted him on the back. "Nice work. Not bad, for a prisoner."

"Yeah. Thanks." It was probably all the praise he'd get from him, so Templar decided to savour the moment.

But before he could catch his breath, they had walked up to the next door, drawn their swords and stepped silently through it.

* * *

_EDIT 21/7/2011: Okay, you know the drill. Fixed up the chapter by adding some details and rewriting all the terrible bits._


	6. Interlude I

_Author's Note: I actually first wrote this about three months back, but it was a bit crap, so I decided to rewrite it. It's still a bit crap, but at least 50% less crap than the first version, which is a good result :-)_

_Anyway, so here's the deal with the (sadly far too infrequent) updates: the plan is to alternate writing these interlude chapters and the main story chapters, until they're caught up with one another; the plan is to do an "interlude" once every five chapters. Also, after every new chapter I'll go and fix up one of the old (i.e. from 1 – 20) chapters, since I FINALLY got around the reading the first couple and they're actually kind of dodgy._

Interlude

**Seelai Tohng, Tang Mo (Giant's Finger, the Thousand Monkey Isles), Akavir, Sun's Dawn 15, 3E433**

_Thump._

Gnarled trees twist and turn overhead, a thick green canopy supported by rough bark. Sunlight peeks through the leaves. A deer listens for a moment before leaping away, hooves thudding on the dappled ground. To the right, a fallen tree trunk leans across the thick undergrowth, covered in moss. The light has a golden quality that makes every leaf, every strand of ivy and curled fern seem to burst with life and timelessness.

_Thump._

A path meanders through the forest. The river of packed earth is perhaps three metres wide, and seems as much a part of the forest as the trees themselves.

_Thump._

Thudding footsteps echo through the still air. Their source rounds slowly plods into view.

It is a huge beast, horned and thick-skinned like a 12-foot-tall rhinoceros, with muscular legs and beady eyes. Its skin is mottled white and orange, and sheets of bony armour surround its neck. An additional horn sprouts from its chin.

The beast wears a set of reins around its jaw. The rider sits as if he were riding a horse, and wears a suit of golden armour, all interlocking plates and chunky shoulderpads. Upon one arm is an immense triangular shield, almost as tall as the figure, engraved so that it almost appears to be made of feathers. Twin swords are crossed upon the rider's back, and he, or it, wears a birdlike helmet that conceals the face beneath.

But the rider is not alone. Behind it are more figures, dozens of them, hundreds, perhaps thousands. They are on foot, and march like an army. Some wield tall, bladed spears, while others support red, three-sided banners that sway in the breeze. Upon each banner is the image of a roaring tiger.

Abruptly, the forest falls to one side, as a path curls along the edge of a tall plateau. The slope is a confusion of scraggly grass and tumbled boulders, a near-cliff that eventually meets the forest again fifty metres below. The rocky hillside is thrown into light and shadow by the early-morning light.

In the distance, the path ends at a jagged upthrust of rock, a hundred-metre peak that seems to have been formed from one smooth sheet of stone. It is surrounded by mounds of gravel and clutching greenery, and rises from the forest like a callus. Around it, smaller outcroppings spear into the sky at impossible angles.

On the very top of the stony mountain is a series of granite columns, arranged in a wide circle. All of them are webbed with cracks, and have been pitted or snapped in half by centuries of wind and rain. But amongst the columns, things are swarming. People, rendered tiny by distance, standing upon the hilltop.

* * *

"You're looking especially perky this morning, Admiral."

He sighed, knowing it was a lie even as he scratched his three-old-stubble. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." He felt the aches in his back, the pains in his knees, tried to stretch but immediately thought better of it as one of his shoulders cracked. _But look on the bright side: still breathing. _"I'm too old for this shit."

"Probably," his companion replied brightly.

"Should have retired years ago."

"Yep."

"Married Annah, bought a house, raised some annoying little kids…" He could picture it now, so clearly, a little log cabin on top of a hill, overlooking the plains of Morrowind...

"Three for three, sir."

The admiral winced. "There are times, Thalia, when you _shouldn't_ agree with me, if only to preserve what little self-esteem I have left."

Thalia Mirabel was pretty and young, casting the admiral's creased face and wearied stance in a less-than-ideal light. She was by no means a beauty, with a somewhat – horsey face (he cursed himself for even thinking it), but still. He long black hair flowed easily in the breeze that whipped through the stones.

"Don't worry, sir. You know that I only have the _highest_ opinion of you."

"Haha. I'm sure." The admiral brushed a piece of grit from one sleepy eye. "Though I thought we'd dispensed of all this 'sir' nonsense. We've been travelling together for a month, for the Nine's sake.

"Okay, Horza. No more 'sirs'." She smiled at him, and he felt his heart smile a little in return. _The little things, always the little things._

Thalia leaned against one of the old stone columns that encircled the hilltop. "What do you think about them?" she asked, pointing down at the distant army that was slowly curling out of the forest, following the mountainside path far below.

Horza frowned, trying to get a rough count of the number of soldiers. From this high, it looked like an army of insects marching in formation. Their leader was clearly visible, though, a golden warrior riding upon the back of some reptilian beast.

"I don't know. It looks fearsome, but to be honest, I don't particularly care – as long as they're not marching towards Tamriel."

"Weeelll…" Thalia trailed off. "I'm still intrigued, and anything the Akiviri are doing is probably something we should-"

There were a few shouts behind them. Thalia whipped around. "Oh, the airship's lifting off. We'd better get on board."

"Indeed. Don't want to get left behind in a land full of… future allies."

The airship sat in the centre of the circle of stones, gas bag almost fully inflated, wooden gondola resting on the earth, straining at the guy-ropes that held it down. Its Akaviri crew strode around the deck, performing last-minute pre-flight checks. "Is the ambassador on board? And his assistant?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Well then." The admiral grimaced. "Time to see what flying's like, I suppose."

"Oh, it'll be fun. Haven't you ever dreamed of being a bird?"

"Yes, I have. I've never dreamed of being a floating pregnant whale, though, and that's basically what that thing remind me of." _That, and heights have never been my strongest point._ "Onwards, though. Onwards, to Ka Po' Tun and Akavir and Tosh Raka and all the rest of it."

"Onwards, to glory," Thalia said wryly.

"To glory. For the-" Horza winced as he tripped on a stone, pain shooting through his hip. Thalia moved to help him up, but he smiled bravely and waved her off.

_I'm too old for this shit._

* * *

**Ionith Pass, Ka Po' Tun (the Tiger-Dragon Empire), Akavir, Sun's Dawn 23, 3E433**

Above was the gigantic gas-chamber that held them in the air, a pale blue, multilayered balloon made of what appeared to be lacquered paper. Beneath was the airship's passenger gondola, an ornately carved wooden construction with an open top deck and a curved hull. Windows and cannon-ports peeked out from between the decking. Protruding from the sides were two steam engines, driving a pair of large propellers that spun steadily in the cool air.

_A thousand miles behind us and a thousand more to go. Sailing east across the sea, towards an unknown land. Flying eastward, ever eastward, into a heart of darkness._

_Yes, it's far from home. But just think how lucky you are to be here. Not many humans have set foot upon this land in the last hundred years._

_The chance to change history, the chance to do some good in the world. Wasn't that what you always wanted?_

Spread out below was a flooded mountain pass. The sea rolled through the twisting chasms with gentle majesty, in long, slow waves. The descending sun set the water alight with a fiery glow that hurt your eyes to look at it, while giving life to the groves of trees that lined the canyon lip. Strange dolphin-like birds flocked around the airship's sides, with long beaks, two-pronged tails and large, gently-flapping wings. The air had a slight hazy, foggy quality that accentuated the twilight.

_Assistant to Cyrodiil's ambassador to Akavir. That job's sure to open a few doors down the line. Not that being with the embassy is bad, but shuffling parchment is… it's not exactly what you _wanted_, is it._

_No, what you _wanted_ is to go to the Arcane University, but that stupid-_

_Don't think about it. Three years later, and you've ended up here, so may as well make the best of it. Trying to make peace between two… uneasy nations is not something you want to screw up._

The airship banked left, tilting slightly, as it approached the first curve in the canyon. He gripped onto the railing tightly. He was alone on the deck, apart from two Akaviri guards, and he was pretty sure they didn't speak Imperial. It was quiet up here, and a wonderful place to think, surrounded by nought but open sky.

_Thinking, thinking, that was what you came here to do - not useless reminiscing. Though that's what it usually devolves to._

_Now, the ambassador was wondering about what the Kamal wanted. I suppose I could go through the files and dig up some history, but… logically, if they're warring with the Thousand Isles, they're going to want-. Hm, and if he does need some more translations done, you'd better get some freaking practice. Can't just rely on-_

A female voice suddenly spoke behind him, half-stolen by the wind of the airship's pass-age. "Hey."

He turned, and blushed slightly, thoughts retreating to some distant corner of his mind. "Oh, hey. How's my favourite… translator?"

"Pretty good. How's my favourite embassy assistant?" Thalia asked.

"Pretty good." He stepped back from the railing. _Well, I'm actually quite cold, but 'pretty good' seemed to suffice for the last thousand times someone's asked me that._

_ Oh come on, don't be bitter._

Thalia smiled, and looked around at the cloudless sky. "So, Jacob… I take it you like the view?"

"Yeah. It's very… nice." _Well, it's amazing actually. _The sun was directly in his eyes, so he shuffled around a little. "Sorry, but the sun-"

"Ha, of course. Sorry." The translator moved over to the railing, all rosy-cheeked from the brisk wind. "Hm…"

Jacob waited in silence, enjoying the company. There wasn't much of it around.

"This is a bit random, but…" Thalia began. She paused. The airship drifted on, propellers cutting the air as the land of Akavir passed beneath them. "Why are you here?"

_What?_ His mind whirled furiously, trying to figure out what she meant. "You mean, why I am on this trip?"

"Yeah. Why did you decide to come along on the first diplomatic mission to Akavir in more than a century?"

_Why am I here? Because I want to do some good with my life. Because, as someone was so fond of saying, the right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world… But as much as that's true, it sounds godsdamned cheesy, so- _"Well, because of the peace talks, I guess. Because I'm the ambassador's assistant. Because I – well – people seem to like what I do." He stumbled over the words.

"I know _that_," Thalia replied, turning towards him. "But why did you choose to come? You don't exactly seem like to most, shall we say, _enthusiastic_ person in the world."

"Oh, that's just me. I'm a very quiet person, as I'm sure you've noticed."

Thalia grinned. "Oh, you got that right. This is the most you've talked to me for a week."

Jacob realised this was probably true, and cursed inwardly. "It's – it's not that I don't like you or anything, it's just that I'm… I dunno. Independent is a kind way of putting it. And don't get the wrong idea, I do enjoy the company."

"Fair enough. Anyway, the _real_ reason I came up here is that dinner is served in the galley, and the ambassador really wants to talk to you about possible gifts for the Akaviri leaders. Or something. Apparently you had a 'decent' idea."

"Oh, yeah. That. Well, tell him I'll be right down."

"Okay, cool." Thalia made her way across the deck, head brushing against the airship balloon, down the stairs into the main hull.

Jacob stayed there for a moment longer, thinking, as always. Thinking of-

_No! Brain, I FORBID you to be melancholy. Be happy! Think of all the good things in the world!_

The canyon widened, and the airship began passing over an enormous lake, still surrounded by a towering stone plateau. The water's calm surface was a vertigo-inducing hundred metres below, and Jacob didn't particularly feel like going for a sudden swim.

He looked downwards anyway, and saw a white silhouette peering out at her from just under the crystal-clear water.

It was a skull. An _enormous_ skull, at least twenty metres long.

A dragon's skull.

Empty eye-sockets now provided a home for the fish, and strands of seaweed trailed from its open jaws.

Attached to it was the rest of the skeleton, an endless succession of tree-trunk vertebrae, half-furled bony wings, a curving tail that stretched across the bottom of the entire lake. The beast was almost as impressive in death as it must have been in life; Jacob had seen a few dragons before in Tamriel, but none this large.

Then, suddenly, someone screamed beneath his feet: a piercing wail that came up through the decking, then rapidly falling away.

Shouts, muffled, in several different languages.

He began running towards the stairs, heart suddenly pumping fast. The sounds of other feet mingled with his own as more and more people began running towards the bow of the airship.

He ran down the stairs, two at a time. Someone rushed past the door at the bottom. Another shout, this one clearer. "-DEAD-"

An air of panic. The airship didn't appear to be crashing, so he realised that only one thing could be the cause. Through the hallways, following shadows.

A sinking feeling.

"-doctor!"

He rounded the corner into the ambassador's office, and saw-

For the first time in his life, Jacob couldn't think of anything.

* * *

**The Halls of Tosh Raka, Ka Po' Tun (the Tiger-Dragon Empire), Akavir, First Seed 1, 3E433**

_Click. Click. Click._

The echoes of their footsteps filled the gloomy chambers and towering hallways of Raka's palace, with precise and comforting regularity.

He kept his eyes ahead, looking out across the featureless expanse of the vast stone floor. Behind him, he knew his two companions were doing the same. The ceiling faded into darkness high above, supported by immense pillars that passed on either side.

_Click. Click. Click._

Silent Akaviri guards lined their path: tall, snake-like, vampiric and immortal. Half-man and half-serpent, their bodies were covered in lustrous golden scales. The Tsaesci people were said to be both frightening and beautiful, and for once the rumours were true. They held curved swords in their hands, and curious metal cylinders strapped across their backs.

The air was cold and dry, and burned with a kind of extreme clarity. Light shone from pale blue orbs that were embedded in the floor.

_Click. Click. Click._

But at the far end of the cavernous throne room was the… being that they had come to see.

The throne stood upon a raised dais and was made of the blackest iron, in a peculiar curved design that looked almost like the top of a cloudy sky. Curved stone spikes arced above its edges in a kind of clawed cage.

_Click. Click. Click. Click. Click…_

The trio stopped, silver cloaks swirling about their feet. The last echoes of their passing faded into silence.

There was a rustling amongst the vast folds of flesh that lay upon the dais.

"Ambassador… Zoet," a voice rasped, in heavily accented Imperial. "Welcome… to Akavir."

The ambassador swallowed. "Thank you for giving us free passage through your city," he said.

"It is a… magnificent… city."

The ambassador recalled the severed Tsaesci heads that had been mounted on pikes along the central causeway. "Yes," he replied.

It was quiet for a moment.

"Jacob de _Zoet_," the being on the throne mused. "You… are not the ambassador."

"No. The ambassador – the ambassador died."

"How unfortunate…" There was a hint of malice in its voice.

"But this meeting is of great importance to both our peoples. So I have elected to come in his place."

"Important to you, perhaps. To us it is merely… interesting."

As the great wings unfurled, the ambassador suddenly became aware at how far he was from home.

"I am surprised at your ability to speak our language, mighty Tosh Raka. I had brought an interpreter" – he gestured at the woman to his left – "but it appears that will not be needed."

The dragon lifted its head into the light for the first time, swaying on the end of a long, sinewy neck. "When you are immortal… as I am," it said benevolently, "the act of learning becomes somewhat… trivial."

The ambassador could almost _feel _the thoughts of the thousand guards behind him, a susurrus of hidden whispers. He noticed that the walls were coated in incredibly fine lines, a series of interconnected whorls and spirals that tricked the eye. Anything to avoid looking at the towering beast that lay curled before him, leathery wings outstretched in a crackling embrace.

Somewhat bravely, he decided to continue. "I have come, on behalf of the land of Tamriel, to make you an offer."

Tosh Raka's slitted golden eyes stared at him from the shadows, curiously. "An offer…"

"Yes. Our people have been at peace for hundreds of years, and we feel that it is time to learn more about each other. To cooperate for mutual benefit. I know that our nations have intermingled slightly in the last few years, and even traded with each other-"

"-but you want _more_," the dragon interrupted. "You want to come by sea and explore our lands. You want to use our foods and goods. You want to be… a friend."

"But your people would have all of the same privileges. We would open our borders too. And sometimes, after centuries of war and isolation – friendship can be a welcome relief."

The ambassador was quite proud of that last part.

Tosh Raka considered this for a moment, then suddenly slapped its tail against the floor with a loud _whack. _The ambassador jumped. "Do the Mer-people still… use magic?" it hissed.

"Yes, divine dragon. Many of our people are skilled in the use of magicka."

"Why?"

The ambassador was struck speechless for a moment by the question. _Why? Why do we build houses, or grow crops?_

"To… make life easier," he said slowly. "To develop our world. To enhance our survival. We use magic for many things, for the benefit of our society."

The dragon lowered its head slightly. "I see… Let us meet again… tomorrow, Jacob de Zoet."

With a sighing of scales, Tosh Raka sank back down onto his misshapen throne. The ambassador stood there, uncertain of what would happen next. _Is that it?_ He realised that he was shivering and glanced to his two companions, who shrugged.

Two of the closest Tsaesci guards moved towards them, slithering along the ground with their serpentine tails. Jacob took the hint and began walking back down the eternal chamber, as his companions fell into step behind him.

_Click. Click. Click._

The echoes of their footsteps filled the towering hallways of Raka's palace. He kept his eyes ahead, looking out across the featureless expanse of the vast stone floor. The ceiling faded into darkness high above.

_Akavir was a foreign land. A question mark upon every map, vast, dark, inhabited by strange creatures and stranger ideas._ _Only the vaguest and most contradictory accounts had been written by Cyrodiil's explorers and historians, and by the brave traders who set foot upon its shores. _

A hundred steps later, the parallel ranks of Tsaesci guards turned into parallel ranks of Tsaesci _skeletons_. They stood perfectly upright, ghostly collections of dry white bone. Empty eye sockets stared at him from crumbling skulls, an endless parade of rib cages and sinuous, snake-like veterbrae.

_Akavir was a divided land. Even after thousands of years, the four races that inhabited the continent were still locked in a struggle for supremacy. Two millennia ago, the vampiric Tsaesci had been in power. Now, it was the Ka Po' Tun, the "Tiger-Dragons," that ruled. In a hundred years' time, it might be the monkey folk of the southern isles, or the Kamal demons of the snowy north._

Now they were walking through a long, curving hallway. It was given an unearthly glow by blue light-emitting bars that ran along the walls. The floor under their feet was made of glass, and through it, he could see a water-tank filled with strange fish and grasping kelp.

_ Perhaps most importantly, Akavir was a hostile land. From the Tsaesci's long rule over Tamriel in the second era, to Emperor Uriel's retaliation a millenia ago, to the legendary invasion of Morrowind by the ancient Kamal race, Akavir's history intersected with Tamriel's only in the most warlike circumstances._

_Click-click-clicking_ through the entrance hall, a vast high-ceilinged chamber filled with plant life and growth. Immense statues of tigers and dragons reared from beneath strangling sheets of vines, as moss gradually climbed the rows of fluted pillars.

Guards pulled open the doors before them and they emerged into the chilly sunlight. From atop the vast stairway that led to Tosh Raka's perch, Jacob could see the entire city of Ka Po' Ran spread out before them: a collection of wood and paper buildings, blue tiles and pointed rooves, great stone domes and twisted trees, ringed by pure white mountains. It was set in the middle of a deep crater, a crystal river running through the centre.

Suddenly, there was a gigantic rushing of wind and a sudden shadow. The ambassador looked up just as fifty metres of scaled muscle whipped overhead. Tosh Raka's orange and black colouring was brilliantly illuminated in the mountain air, his wings held steady as he floated from his _mountaintop nest and slowly banked over the great city, long tail streaming out behind. A brief jet of fire flew from his mouth, the orange smear sweeping across the sky, together with a harsh and distant roar that rattled his bones._

_ Akavir was intensely xenophobic and in a constant state of civil war – until now. Now, mysterious things were a foot (even more so than usual, he thought bitterly). Tales of strange happenings were filtering across the ocean and landing on Tamriel's shores, and the people in charge wanted to know why._

_ I just hope it's the right time to be asking questions._


	7. An Emperor's Fall

_Author's Note: Yes, Baurus and Glenroy were mixed up to make it more interesting later in the in the story. I'll delete some of the dialogue choices as well, because some are kind of redundant (you just get information in a different order). I could go crazy with all these choices, like saying "Do you want to lie or tell the truth?" when Baurus asks where the Amulet is. But as one reader said, it makes it more like a multiple choice quiz than a story. So, I'll only keep the ones that are actually in the game._

_Also, I've deliberately changed the weapon of the Mythic Dawn assassin, for no particular reason at all. Well, actually, it's because I thought that the Emperor should be killed with a sword, not a mace or dagger. It just sounds better._

An Emperor's Fall

**_The Sanctum, Under the Imperial City, Last Seed 27 3E433_**

They emerged into the next chamber, more cautiously than before. It was a long gallery lined with columns. Once again, there was a small walkway on either side that was raised above the floor. The Emperor and his two guards stood at the top of a stairway, which descended to the ground through the middle of the room. At the far end there was a barred metal gate.

The two Blades murmured to each other as they surveyed the hall.

"Maybe the Emperor is right about him. The best was he can help, though, is to let us do our jobs."

"He did pretty well in our last little skirmish. He's nice, in an annoying kind of way."

There was a sudden clatter of armour and weaponry behind them. The trio whirled in unison to see a man in rather battered armour run up behind them, panting.

"Sorry. I didn't see which hallway you turned into."

"I almost thought we'd gotten rid of you. Ah, well, you can't have everything in life," the first guard replied.

The party and their new addition began trotting down the stairway.

----------

"Hold up." Glenroy stopped suddenly, holding up a hand. "I don't like this. Let me take a look."

Templar had always thought that feeling the hairs on your neck prickle was a metaphorical phrase, but now he learned that it was true. You could almost hear the violins screeching in the background, building up the suspense.

Glenroy walked down the steps in a half-crouch, steeping off the main walkway and taking cover behind a broken pillar.

"Hm. Looks clear. Come one, we're almost through to the sewers."

They were going through the _sewers?_ Templar had heard _really_ bad stories about the Imperial City's sewers.

"Keep alert. I felt something…"

There were two exits to the room, a large one directly in front of them and one in an antechamber to the right. The Emperor turned towards the smaller one.

Baurus walked up to the gate and pushed against it.

"Dammit! The gate is barred from the other side. It's probably a trap."

"What about the other passage back there?" Glenroy gestured to the larger gate.

"It's worth a try. Let's go!"

The Emperor silently followed his Blades, and Templar silently followed the Emperor.

It was underwhelming, really. Just a little square room that seemed to serve no useful purpose other than being there.

"It's a dead end. What's your call, sir?"

_Baurus, you have a huge talent for stating the obvious._

Glenroy was about to answer when there was the sound of metal clanking on metal behind them.

"They're behind us! Wait here, sire, we'll-"

"Isn't it a little stupid to leave the Emperor undefended?" Templar interjected.

"That's why we've got you, prisoner. Useless as you may be, you can still wield a sword. Wait here with the Emperor. Guard him with your life."

"But-"

With that, Baurus ran out of the room, towards the shouting and ring of steel. _Sh--._ Things were rapidly spiraling out of control, and now Templar had the life of the Emperor in his hands.

An assassin charged through the gate and stormed towards the Emperor. _You do your job, Baurus. Now I'll do mine._

The assassin drew his sword. Templar ran to meet him.

Sword and shield met in a clash of sparks. Templar leant backwards, and swung his sword sideways. The assassin quickly backed off and then lunged forward, slashing downwards. Templar raised his longsword and blocked the blow, feeling it vibrate through his body, and hammered his shield into his attacker's helmet.

_Yeah, take that._ The assassin fell backwards, reeling. Templar's sword plunged forward, lancing up between cuirass and helmet. The warrior stumbled and fell. Templar planted his foot on the man's shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground.

The fighting continued outside, and Templar was tempted to run and help. But no, the Emperor was more important, and the two Blades could probably handle themselves. Maybe.

He was wiping his sword when the Emperor turned to him.

"I can go no further. You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants. He must not have the Amulet of Kings!" The Emperor's voice was desperate, and his eyes were pleading.

"What?! No!" _Dammit!_ "Glenroy! Baurus! Get in here! I NEED HELP!"

Templar wasn't sure if anyone heard him, or they were just too busy fighting off the assassins.

The Emperor raised his voice. "No! You cannot change my fate. Take the Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my last son. Find him, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion…"

The Emperor unhooked the glowing red jewel from around his neck and handed it to Templar. He took it, unthinking.

_The Amulet of Kings_. He was holding, in his very hand, one of the most powerful artifacts in the Empire.

And what else had the Emperor said? That he had another son… But his only two had been killed, hadn't they? That meant that he had an illegitimate son living somewhere in Cyrodiil. TheEmperor had an _illegitimate son_…

His mind shot back to the present. If the Emperor had given him the Amulet of Kings, then he was about to die.

"Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit."

Templar pulled the Emperor into a corner. With a wall at his back, there were only a few directions an assassin could come from. Right, left, and forward.

_One entrance, one exit. Easy._

With that, three assassins came running through the door.

_Protect him with your life…_

Templar was about to throw a fireball when he heard a noise _behind _him.

"No!"

An assassin jumped out of an alcove in the wall in a burst of yellow smoke and thrust his sword through the Emperor of Tamriel's back. The point glistened with blood as it exited through the Emperor's chest.

_The blood, glistening in the gloom. The sound of the sword as the assassin wrenched it out. The crunch of bone. The footsteps behind him. The Emperor's face, mysteriously serene. His voice, screaming. The grind of stone. His sword, heavy in his hand. The thump of a body hitting the ground. _

The death of a dynasty, the end of an era.

An Emperor's fall.

----------

And then it was over.

It seemed too quick, too uneventful for such a momentous event. There should've been a clash of thunder, or fire reaching down from the heavens. But in half a second, with a single sword-thrust, the Emperor of Cyrodiil had had his life taken away.

His only task and he'd _failed. __What did it matter if the Emperor said he would be a hero. The Emperor was freaking DEAD!_

Then the assassin spoke, in what sounded curiously like a woman's voice as the three other assassins ran out of the room. A deep, menacing voice, but a woman's all the same. "Stranger, you chose a bad day to take up with the cause of the Septims."

Templar wasn't thinking. He was following some primal instinct to retaliate.

"You chose a bad day to take up with ME-"

-_Clang!-_

Swords clashed. Dodging a thrust at his neck, responding with a quick riposte. Blocking several heavy blows to his chest, and then BAM BAM BAM-

Templar felt the impacts vibrate through his body, each swing of the assassin's sword sending him staggering backwards. His armour began to buckle, and he winced as he felt one of his ribs break.

_"For the Empeerrroooorrrrrr!"_

Baurus ran through the gate, roaring a battlecry.

The assassin turned, and died.

Baurus viciously stabbed the assassin in the back of the neck, pulling his sword out fiercely. Templar rushed over to the Emperor's side, drawing all of the magic he could from his battered body and sending it straight to the Emperor's heart.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead…"

The blue magic just evaporated into the icy air. He felt the tears begin to flow, and wiped them away angrily.

_Splish, splash, splish, splash…_

Each drop of water made a tiny puddle on the cold stone floor. Baurus knelt beside him.

"No… Talos save us." He put one hand on the Emperor's heart. "Glenroy's dead. I've failed… The Blades are sworn to protect the Emperor, and now he and all his heirs are dead…"

"No, you haven't. I'VE failed. You told me to protect the Emperor with my life. I should be dead, not he." Templar tried to sound brave, but all he managed was a stammer.

Baurus turned to him. "No. It's my fault." he said softly. The Blade opened his mouth, about to say something, but then sighed and turned back to the Emperor's body.

"So Glenroy's dead?" Templar asked. _At least I knew his name_.

"Yes. Two good Blades have died today."

The two sat in silence for a while, Templar's tears slowly stopping. _I didn't know that I could still cry._

Baurus knelt over the Emperor's body, staring into nothingness.

----------

_The assassin stepped back to aim a kick at his stomach. Templar dodged aside, attempting to twist him about his center of gravity while he was off balance. But the warrior was too fast, or Templar too slow, and he pivoted easily out of Templar's way. Cursing, he aimed a solid blow to the assassin's helmet, which vibrated even through his gauntlets._

The Emperor died.

_The assassin's armour grinded against itself as he assumed a combat stance – arms outstretched, legs planted firmly to either side – and awaited Templar's next move. He feinted to the right, jabbed at the assassin's left shoulder with his sword. The blow glanced aside, and the warrior smashed him in the chest with his shield. The assassin's sword swept up to strike him in the face, but he ducked in time. Templar felt the blade whistle bare millimeters past his ear, and he ducked under the warrior's shield to strike him in the stomach._

The Emperor died.

Th_e assassin staggered backwards. Templar, winded from the blow to his chest, didn't press his advantage as he would've liked to. There was a scream from outside, distracting him. The warrior ducked low and charged, his sword held high. Templar lunged aside in time to avoid the attack, but not quickly enough to avoid the assassin's outstretched shield arm._

The Emperor died.

No matter how he replayed the scenario in his mind, the Emperor died. It consoled him a little, to know that he could not have prevented it.

Baurus had long left to attend to Glenroy's body. Templar stood up, feeling his knees crack. He walked outside, and found Baurus leaning against a pillar.

"How long's it been?" Templar asked.

"About an hour."

"You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm alright."

Templar paused.

"Wait. Just before he died, the Emperor gave me this." He pulled the Amulet of Kings out of his tunic and held it out to Baurus.

"What? He gave the Amulet of Kings to _you_, prisoner? Oh, sorry. I probably shouldn't call you that now."

"Don't worry about it." _At least Baurus had tried to stop calling him 'prisoner.' And it gave them something to laugh about, which they badly needed._

"Strange. He saw something in you. Trusted you. I think I just might be able to see a bit of that something…"

Baurus' voice trailed off for a moment, but then he shook himself and continued. "They say it's the Dragon Blood, that flows through the veins of every Septim. They… see more than lesser men. The Amulet of Kings is a sacred symbol of the Empire. Most people think of the Red Dragon Crown, but that's just jewellery."

"Thanks for shattering my illusions." Templar tried to smile, but didn't succeed.

"Hmph. Only a true heir of the Dragon Blood can wear it, they say. He must have given it to you for a reason. Did he say why?"

"He said…" Templar hesitated. "He said to give it to Jauffre."

"Jauffre? He said that? Why?"

"There is another heir," Templar replied.

"Nothing I've ever heard about. I 'm not surprised that the Emperor wanted keep it quiet. If word leaked out… But anyway, Jauffre would be the one to know. He's the Grandmaster of my Order, although you may not think so to meet him"

"I'm surprised to have never heard of him. I mean, the Blades are famous, or at least pretty well-known."

"Jauffre likes to keep a low profile," Baurus answered. "He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priory, near the city of Chorrol."

_Weynon Priory… He'd heard that name, and - yes, he'd been there once, before the blood. He'd been trying to find something. But what? _

"How do I get there?"

"First, you need to get out of here. Through that hidden passage must be the entrance to the sewers, past the locked gate. That's where we were heading. It's a secret way out of the Imperial City. Or it was supposed to be secret." Baurus stopped for a second. "I really have _no_ idea how these damned assassins managed to find out, but heads are going to roll for this. Here – you'll need this key for the last door into the sewers."

"The sewers?" Templar asked surprisedly as he took the key. "I thought we were going to the Imperial Palace. I mean, seriously, the _sewers._"

"Yeah, the sewers. Unpleasant as they are, they're the only way out. There are rats and goblins down there, but from what I've seen of you, I'm guessing that you were an experienced Bard before you got locked up. Am I right?"

"Um… what?"

"A Bard," Baurus said patiently. "You know, the stealthy intelligent magical type of person, who likes to tell stories?"

"No, I wasn't anything before I got locked up. Just the usual middle-class guy. I used to own a shop of some sort, I think. Or maybe a farm… Anyway, I was thinking more along the lines of a Battlemage. Kind of a mix of swords and magic. With a bit of archery and stealth thrown in. I was actually thinking of calling it the Templar class. A bit presumptuous, I know, but who cares when you're fighting rats in a sewer."

"Hm. That's different."

"I'm a different kind of person," Templar replied cheerily.

"Yeah, and not in a good way." Baurus grunted. "Not what I was expecting for the saviour of the Septim line, but you'll have to do. Still, I don't think you'll have much trouble with rats and goblins."

"Ex-_cuse _me?"

Baurus pointedly ignored him. "After the sewers, you must get the Amulet to Jauffre. Take no chances, but proceed directly to Weynon Priory. Got it?"

_If you say, "Yes, I understand," go to block one._

_If you say, "No. Please explain more," go to block two._

_----------_

1

"Yes, I understand," Templar answered.

"Good. The Emperor's trust was well placed. Jauffre should know how to find the heir that the Emperor spoke of. The Amulet must reach Emperor Uriel's heir so a new Emperor can be crowned." Baurus stepped back.

"Great duty for a great mind." Templar said grandly.

"I hope you can handle it."

"I hope so too." Templar paused. "Thanks. I owe you one, Baurus."

"You know what?" Baurus said, a smile creeping across his face. "I need someone to go down to Leyawiin for me to pick up some swords."

"I don't owe you that much."

----------

2

"Not really. Could you go in a little more detail? I've lost my memory here, so I'm sure you'd appreciate the fact that I have absolutely no idea of where Chorrol is or what it looks like."

"Take it easy. You'll be fine. I know this is a lot to take in all at once." Baurus patted him on the shoulder.

"Thrusting me out into the big wide world as defenceless as a baby slaughterfish? The Emperor wouldn't like that, Baurus."

"Not quite defenceless."

"You're right. Slaughterfish can't do fireballs."

Baurus looked at him seriously. "No one's more surprised than me that I'm sending an escaped prisoner off with the Amulet of Kings. But the Emperor trusted you for a reason, and I trust the Emperor."

"You don't trust me?"

"Not yet. Maybe a little bit. The Amulet must get to Jauffre at Weynon Priory. He'll know what to do with it."

----------

Main Story

"What about you? What will you do?"

"I'll stay here and guard the Emperor's body, and make sure no one follows you," Baurus replied. "Hey, you'd better get moving. May Talos guide you."

"I though he was guiding the Emperor and Glenroy to Aetherius."

Baurus looked away for a moment, sadly. He sighed. "Let's hope he can multitask. You need to get out of here. There's no telling who will come first, the Blades or more assassins."

"May the gods keep you safe, Baurus."

"And you, Templar."

Templar was about to step through the opening when Baurus called out to him.

"By the way, did you recover Captain Renault's sword?"

Templar stopped suddenly, his heart beating wildly. "Umm… it broke. Back there, in the caverns."

"Don't worry," Baurus comforted him. "I'll go and retrieve it later. That way it can have a place of honour alongside Glenroy's in the halls of the Blades. Farewell, Templar."

"Farewell."

Templar stepped through hidden doorway, trying not to let his emotions show. He walked through the halls unseeing, as he thought of his past and future. All the things he had to do. His responsibilities. The deaths of Captain Renault, Glenroy and the Emperor. As he reached the doorway to the sewers, he smiled.

"Talos is a God. I'm sure he can multitask."


	8. The Light of Hope

_25,000 words, people! The future's bright, the future's bright. At first I though that this thing would wither and die (I NEVER finish any story that I start, unless it's ten pages or less), but it seems that enough of you like this odd mix of fantasy/humour/other for it to have seven reviews. SEVEN! _

_Anyway, pretty short chapter this time. I'm not sure if the next chapter should be when Templar visits the Imperial City (usually you'd do this in the game, to sell your various bits of loot) or just skip to Weynon Priory. I'll probably do a short Imperial City chapter, just for completeness, and then get on with the good bits of the story. At least we're out of the damn starter dungeon._

The Light of Hope

_**The Imperial City Sewers, Under the Imperial City, Last Seed 27 3E433**_

_For… umm… god and glory! Yeah, that's it! God and glory!_

_Who am I kidding, it's for me, myself and I._

Templar climbed through a manhole and descended down a gunk-covered ladder. At the bottom awaited the Imperial Sewers in all their splendor.

Piles of unidentified muck lay in the corners, with old barrels and sheets of metal rotting and rusting away. The walls were soot-stained and streaked with algae, and the floor was slippery with slime. A bone was scattered here and there, and what little light there was did little to illuminate Templar's surroundings, and instead made each corner a dank, dark shadow. Water dripping from the ceiling made eerie echoes in the deserted chambers

_It could almost be home_, Templar though wryly.

He gingerly descended a flight of stairs and walked through to the next room, his footsteps clanking loudly. Half of the floor was merely metal grating, through which Templar could see sluggishly-flowing water. And there was the smell, too. It could, really, only be described as the smell of the Imperial Sewers - or maybe the smell of a million dirty, careless citizens.

The next area was made up of two thin, raised walkways on either side, with a shallow waterway separating them. Two crude stone bridges arched between the two sides of the room, and the waterway was blocked off by a metal grating at either end. Four large pipes, two on each side, flowed with water and other unidentifiable substances, which splashed into the central canal. A large rectangular opening in the centre of the room let in a fairly large amount of light, and cobwebs covered the arched roof. Larger bits of rubbish were stacked in each corner. The light bouncing off the water threw wavy reflections on the walls.

Annoyingly, a rat and a goblin were patrolling the area.

He killed the rat with a stealthily-shot arrow, and the goblin was quickly dispatched with a blow to the head, after a brief but tiring struggle. Templar even got a new dent in his already-battered armour. The goblin's dagger fell into the water, and was swept through into the next tunnel, passing through the grate.

_Don't get too overconfident. That would be bad. But still, goblins seem pretty easy now. _

He was right. Templar's skills were improving already, and although he was still a bit clumsy – goblins weren't really challenge material – he could at least kill something before it killed him.

He opened a chest that was discarded in one corner and found two lockpicks and a few arrows.

Right. There were _three_ exits to this room: a rather hefty-looking metal door on one side, and two open passageways on the other, which presumably led to the same place.

The gate first. Templar pushed against it, but it didn't budge. _They could have at least had a large, obvious sign saying "this gate is sealed" or something._

Okay then, let's try the passageways. He checked them both by peering around the corner.

Passageway one: a goblin guard.

Passageway two: a rat.

_If you take the rat, go to section one and read through to where it says "2"._

_If you take the goblin, go to section two and read through to where it says _"_Main Story."_

_----------_

1

I'll take the rat.

_To kill or not to kill, that is the question. _

_Kill, I think. Not that I'm turning into a savage or anything. That would be alarmingly like my memories, and I really don't want to go there at the moment._

Flick-throw-whoosh-squeal-burn-die.

That was the plan. Unfortunately, the air, as you'd expect in a sewer, was quite saturated with methane. And methane is flammable.

The resulting fireball was a _bit_ bigger than expected. As it left Templar's palm, the explosion blew Templar's eyebrows off. He was thrown backwards through the passage and clean into the waterway. The room he'd been in was briefly, _spectacularly,_ filled with fire. Templar wasn't amused. He was lying in a knee-deep sludge of human excrement.

The rat died, though.

_"Fricking ow!"_

Templar quickly cast a healing spell for his burnt face. Pity about the eyebrows, though. They'd take a while to grow back.

_"You're kidding, right? I'm lying in POO?!"_

"Dammit." He heaved himself upright, watching the brown mixture slide off his armour in chunks, and drop back into the 'water.'

"Dammit," he said again.

Templar pulled himself up out of the waterway, and wearily trudged back into the room he'd just incinerated. He was briefly gratified to see nothing left of the rat but a pile of soot, but it didn't do anything to disperse the smell. Templar plodded up the stairs along one side of the chamber, and found himself on a thin walkway _above_ the room that the goblin had been in. A circular shaft bathed the room in a pearly white glow.

Yes, he'd better be stealthy. But it was hard to be stealthy when you'd just fallen into a pool of-

The goblin snarled, and looked upwards. Templar grinned, and did a little wave.

It started running up the stairs towards him.

----------

Fighting with a goblin on a one-metre-wide walkway, when a fall meant certain death, was definitely _not_ on his list of things to do.

Templar ducked a clumsy swing by the goblin, and windmilled his arms a little to stay upright. He blocked the next blow with his shield and was gratified to see the goblin stumble on the edge of the walkway. Templar swung back and nicked the goblin's face with the tip of his sword. It recoiled briefly, but sent a quick thrust at his neck. Templar sidestepped – _bad_ decision – and tumbled over the precipice.

----------

Hanging by your fingertips from a five-metre high stone walkway with a goblin about to stab your hand was definitely _not_ on his list of things to do.

The goblin stabbed downwards. Templar lifted his hand briefly, swung wildly to the right, and quickly clamped his fingers back onto the stone. Why the _hell_ did I try to _sidestep_ a thrust? On a _metre-wide_ bridge?

He shimmied to the left, trying to get closer to the wall so he could hoist himself up. It was especially hard since he had a great big bit of leather strapped to one arm.

Stab_-lift-_grab

Shimmy shimmy.

Stab-_lift-ohmygodthatonewentinbetweenmyfingers-_grab.

He spied his sword, lying on the walkway by the goblin's feet. He'd obviously let go of it before he'd fallen.

Shimmy shimmy.

Stab-_lift_-grab sword-_swing-_

The metal sliced across the goblin's legs. Templar quickly let go of the sword so he could use two hands to hold himself up. _At least the goblin hadn't thought of trying to get both of my hands at one._

Templar pulled himself over to the wall and heaved himself back up onto the walkway. The goblin hissed and slashed at him. Templar blocked, and instead of stepping backwards, stepped _forwards_. The goblin, thanks to the unexpected move, tripped over its own feet and fell backwards over the precipice.

Templar hoped it had broken both its legs. By the way it was coughing up blood, it had been a hard fall.

He merrily continued through the next hallway.

_Skip the next section and continue reading at "Main Story."_

_----------_

2

I'll take the goblin.

_To kill or not to kill, that is the question. _

_Kill, I think. Not that I'm turning into a savage or anything. That would be alarmingly like my memories, and I really don't want to go there at the moment._

Templar drew his sword. The goblin whirled and leapt to meet him, its footsteps disturbing the layers of dust on the floor.

Each sword thrust made a little slice of emptiness in the foul air, the particles swirling rapidly, like little whirlpools, to fill the gap.

Templar blocked a savage thrust, and swung his sword against the goblin's helmet. Its axe-blade hammered into his side. The pain was intense – but the iron armour prevented his ribs from being smashed. The two kept moving, cutting and parrying. Despite concentrating on his opponent, he distantly watched the dust as it eddied around them. The ringing clash of axe against word filled the air.

Flipping his blade, and holding it like a dagger, Templar parried a thrust with his shield, and then plunged his sword through the goblin's collarbone. The blade sank deep, and there was a ghastly scream tore from the goblin's throat.

The scream almost did it. Blackness swam on the edge of his vision, but Templar steadied himself against the nearest wall, breathing heavily. The shuddered as he wiped the blood off his hands. _The scream and the blood combined to make one hellish image in his mind. The night of his… capture. Yes, he'd been put in the prison after that night of fire and death. He'd been taken away from them… The darkness was creeping ever closer, even with his best attempts to control it. In the darkest reaches of his mind, two armies clashed. One fought for love and kindness, and one fought for hate and evil._

_He would not turn into the thing he'd been that night. He would not grow to worship death and fear._

_Love rallied briefly, and surged forward. Death melted before the charge. But it would always be back…_

_----------_

Templar gripped the wall like a fly on a window. He reached upwards, testing if the next handhold was secure. It was, and he hoisted himself up a little more, his foot scrabbling for purchase on the smooth stone. After an exhausting couple of minutes, he clambered up onto the walkway high above him. It seemed more of an effort than killing the rat and taking the stairs, but he didn't want any more slaughter in his rather fragile state of mind.

He rested for a moment, and continued into the next gloomy tunnel.

_Continue reading._

_----------_

Main Story

Templar walked through the gently curving tunnel, eventually emerging into a small square room, with an opening on each side. A thin, deep channel bisected the room. There was nothing of interest apart from a couple of bones, so Templar moved on. He skipped over a grate and emerged into the next area.

This room was a little larger, and there was a slightly-depressed area in each wall, as if the builders had decided to remove one layer of bricks in an arch shape. There were two circular shafts in the roof, and each corner was supported by a thick rectangular pillar. A large pile of muck was slopped in one corner, and there was a network of small channels cutting through the floor. They disappeared into a small opening at the far end. There was a thick metal door on the left, but it was stuck fast.

And, best of all, at the far end there was a long, wide pipe – and through it, Templar could see sunlight. The light of hope.

_That little beam of light, that symbolised the hope of every prisoner…_

"Yeah! _Finally!_"

He sprinted up to the metal gate at his end of the circular tunnel. "You'd better open, or I will freaking _kill_ something"

Templar was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. He really didn't know what he'd do if the gate was locked. Go mad in frustration, probably.

To his relief, it swung open, with a little bit of force. He stepped inside, ducking his head to avoid bumping it on the low ceiling.

_Birdsong. I never thought I'd hear that again._

He strode upwards, gripping the sides so he didn't slide backwards. Finally, after a lot of slipping and sliding, he reached the exit.

_Oh look, there's some clouds! And-_

The whole magnificent vista of Cyrodiil was spread out before him.


	9. A City of Dreams

_Authors Note: Sorry for the slightly longer wait, but I had things to do, a life to live, blah blah blah… Anyway, I personally don't like some bits of this chapter. I didn't really want to dawdle on this section, as it's not too important, but even so I probably should have spent more time on some parts and less time on others. Some descriptions are a little dodgy, some bits aren't really interesting to read, and in my opinion I could have written it better. I can't be bothered fixing it now, but maybe a few chapters on I will. You can probably all imagine it yourself, as you've probably seen a fort, a jetty or the Imperial City about a million times already. Or maybe you'll like it._

_Also, what do you think of upping the scale a bit? It would probably seem a bit more epic if, say, the Imperial City housed a million instead of a thousand, or the Defence of Bruma had twenty thousand combatants instead of fifteen. Bethesda probably had to keep the numbers down to make the game actually work on the average computer, so I think the whole thing should be a bit larger. Of course, travel time would increase a bit if the distance between Kvatch and Skingrad was more like thirty miles instead of one, but most of that I can skip over in the story. The tone and focus of the story will stay the same, but things will just be BIGGER._

_EDIT: For those nitpickers among you, you may recall that Varnado from the Best Defence would barely even talk to you when you first met him because, for some reason, he didn't like you. I changed that because, well, a shopkeeper who tells his customers to piss off won't sell much, will he? And I know that he doesn't sell shields or weapons, but it was more convenient for the story. _

A City of Dreams

**_Imperial Prison Sewers Entrance, Approximately 100m North-East of the Imperial Prison, Lake Rumare, Last Seed 27 3E433_**

Sunlight glinted off the clear blue waters of Lake Rumare, as a light breeze rippled across the calm surface. Lightly-forested hills formed into snow-capped mountains in the distance, hazy and indistinct. Blindingly-white Ayleid ruins nestled in a grove of trees, and an old, waterlogged jetty stretched out above the water. A boat bobbed beside it, grinding against the sand of the beach, lying between two half-submerged rocks that had been worn smooth by the constant motion of the waves. The clear blue sky held no hint of rain, apart from some light wisps of cloud on the horizon. All in all, it was a scene of immense, eternal beauty.

_I _am _in a poetic mood today. _Templar didn't know how long he stood there on the coarse grass, relishing the moment.

And then it began to rain.

_So much for that, then._

Templar groaned as water trickled down the back of his armour, the idyllic scene transformed into a grey and dreary landscape.

_Yeah, it had to happen to me. I've SO been looking forward to this moment, you know, wanting to feel the sunshine again, and then it has to freaking rain._

"Ah, well, at least I can feel the rain on my face."

Templar grumbled a little more as he made his way down to the water's edge. The sky was now a mask of grey clouds, with no end in sight. He stepped up to the old rowing boat moored beside the jetty. A small lantern burned at the end, a warning light for any larger ships that came too close.

_No need to get any more wet than necessary, hey?_

He untied the boat and pushed it out onto the water, watching it glide and sway in the waves. The most ordinary sights were turned into beautiful masterpieces after so long without the sun and only a cell for company.

He watched the boat float downstream…

Downstream?

"Hey!"

Templar clambered up onto the jetty and sprinted down it, chasing the rapidly-receding boat. He dodged a spare barrel – _curse­_ them for leaving it in the middle of a jetty – and slipped on the wet boards. He sailed over a mooring line, with as much grace as a man in armour who would rather not be flying, and landed smack-bang in the little rowing boat, which he heard splinter ominously.

Templar raised his head cautiously, not willing to make any sudden moves. He drew one leg up-

-c_rack-_

-and stopped abruptly.

_Right. Eventually, hopefully, the boat will reach the other shore, with a bit of constructive paddling from me. Although what I can do in my position is a bit limited._

He settled for two arms feebly splashing over the sides of the rowing boat.

Templar gloomily felt the rain dribble down his face, and sighed.

_What a day._

_----------_

Templar jerked as the boat shuddered beneath him, slithering up onto the sand on the other side of Lake Rumare.

_What a miracle. I actually fell asleep. Then again, it's been a busy few hours._

He languidly turned over onto his back, resting his head on his hands. The rain had lessened into a fine drizzle, which made him blink furiously as droplets cascaded onto his face.

As he turned his head, a white, enormously tall tower poked into his vision. He propped himself up on one elbow.

The majestic soaring walls of the Imperial City rose like mountains in front of him, protecting the jewel of the Empire from the outside world.

He'd somehow missed them as he was chasing his runaway boat. But it was too late now; they were back where he'd come from, on the central island of Lake Rumare, and he didn't fancy paddling back in a leaky ship.

But still… he deserved a bit of rest, didn't he? _I've probably found enough money for a night at the Imperial City's finest inn, the Tiber Septim if I recall…_

_No. I can't._

_There's too little time, and I've got to keep my word, if not to Baurus then at least to the Emperor._

Nevertheless, there was still a little time to visit the "City of Dreams" (as the tourist brochures would have it) before he set off to Weynon Priory.

_Now, what do I have to do?_

_One: Find Weynon Priory._

_Two: Give the Amulet to Jauffre._

_Three: Find out what the hell I'm supposed to do._

_Four: Save the world._

He was sure he could find some time in his schedule to pop by the Imperial City and, at least, buy some new armour.

Templar stepped out of the boat and dragged it up onto pebbly beach so that it wouldn't wash away. After one final glance, he began walking towards the rolling hills that made up much of the Heartlands of Cyrodiil. With luck, eventually he'd reach a road that would take him to the Imperial City's gates.

The long grass was thick and green, and the occasional flower poked up here and there. Templar stepped around a rocky outcropping, making his way upwards. The trees grew thicker as he ascended, and clustered together in little groves. Further up, he could see, the groves turned into forests, the great forests that blanketed the lower slopes of the Jerall Mountains.

Templar walked through one such grove of trees, shoving his way past a couple of boulders in the shade as the rain dripped off the leaves. He pushed himself up one particularly steep incline and grabbed onto a convenient bush to stop himself slipping back down.

One of the old ruined forts that dotted the landscape of Cyrodiil was around fifty metres in front of him, and he made his way towards it. The forts usually stood beside the roads that wound their way through the countryside.

After passing two smaller, circular guard towers, he reached the main structure. It was set upon a slightly higher bit of ground, and the squat multilevelled keep was half-open to the elements. The roof had fallen in long ago, and the outer buildings were almost completely overgrown by trees and weeds. Templar walked up the partially-buried steps that led into the main entrance of the fortress.

Stepping inside was a welcome reprieve from the rain, even though the supporting arches had long said goodbye to the floors they had held. Two stairways, one on either side, led to the upper regions of the fort, while a thick wooden door led to the underground portion, which was often larger than the fort itself. Templar though he saw a deer scurry away from him as he entered, scared off by his quiet approach.

Beside a small statue of Stendarr, the god of mercy, was the fort's name.

_Fort Chalman, I salute you._

Templar spared a quick though for the abandoned fort as he stepped over the fallen blocks of stone, imagining it in its days of glory a hundred years ago.

But, more importantly, there was a road that led through the fort and then seemed to circle back around Lake Rumare.

_This must be the Ring Road that circles the Imperial City. _

He must have been around twenty metres above his starting position, and at least 200 metres away from it. The road zig-zagged downward through the hills, and he could see it meet the shores of the lake in the distance.

_Walk now, rest later. _

That wasn't what his feet told him, though.

----------

The journey was uneventful. The road took the scenic route, meandering through the dips and rises of the lake shore. At one point, he passed a mounted Imperial Legion soldier on patrol duty. Templar suppressed the urge to go off-road and avoid the soldier, half-thinking he would be recognised and thrown back into the prison. The world probably didn't know about an escaped prisoner yet, or even the Emperor's death, and once that got out, one prisoner wouldn't be a big deal.

He was right. The guard made a brief salute and walked straight on past, torch fizzling in the rain.

After another kilometre, he passed a small inn, squeezed into a grove of trees. Templar paused, but continued walking. There was still a good six hours of light left, and it would take another three at least to reach the Imperial City's entrance.

_Just keep walking, walking, walking…_

_----------_

When Templar finally began to see the bridge to the Imperial City's main gates in the fog, he was well and truly miserable. He'd passed another set of Ayleid ruins and a second fort, as well as a small settlement called Aleswell, which was quite probably a sarcastic about his current situation if you took it to say "All's Well."

As he walked through the rain, the road crept closer and closer to the water's edge. He kicked his feet despondently through the encroaching water, passing a sign for the road to Skingrad.

"I'm in a _really_ foul humour at the moment. And you know what? I don't care."

He walked past another guard tower, and the road turned back into the hills briefly before making its way towards the Imperial City gates. Just outside there was a small village by the name of Weye, taking advantage of travellers who were probably tired and hungry, and couldn't be bothered going another kilometer into the City itself.

It was tempting.

But no, he continued with barely a glance, passing under the first of the majestic arches that spanned the long, wide bridge. A tall guard tower stood on either side of each arch, and braziers were spaced at regular intervals along the bridge's thick stone railings. The whole structure was made of the "white gold" that was used in all of the other important buildings of the Imperial City.

There were no other lonely wayfarers like himself, probably due to the rain. No one in their sane mind would think of braving the weather, but Templar wasn't sane, was he? No, Templar was half-crazy, although it had been a little better since the events of the morning.

Arch two.

Templar's feet drummed along the neatly-cobbled surface. _What are you going to do in the Imperial City? I don't know, I just wanted to come here. Buy some new armour, maybe. Seek a bit of information. See if anyone knows a man by the name of Templar Estantesec, if anyone knows where his family lives?_

Arch three.

He began the steep climb to the City's huge stone gates. Templar thought that he could see the guards on the walls pointing and laughing at him. Couldn't blame them, really.

Finally, he stood in front of the gates themselves. There was a smaller door built into the centre, for the use of common travelers. Of course, any successful businessman just _had _to go to the trouble of opening the big gates, so everyone could see how important he was.

He pushed against the door, and found that it was barred from the other side. _Damn._ He shouted up to the guards on the wall.

_"Could somebody open the damned gate? It's FREEZING down here?!"_

One of the wall guards shouted to one of his fellows inside one of the adjoining towers. A legionnaire reluctantly stepped out into the cold and tramped down the stairway on the other side of the wall. Shortly afterwards, Templar heard the bar being lifted. He pushed the doors open.

"You know, it was quite nice back in the guard tower. We had a fire going and everything." The legionnaire winced as a gust of wind blew through the open gate.

Templar gestured at the hills. "Trust me. It's colder out there."

"I believe you. Care to spend some time in the warm? You look like you need it."

"Sorry, I can't." Templar paused. "Things to do." _What, exactly, did he have to do?_

"It's your bodyheat." The guard shrugged, and began trudging back up the stairs. "Come by later, maybe. When it's not so f---king _COLD!_"

Templar grinned. _Right. The wonders of the Empire await me. What do I do now?_

His eyes shot past a park bench and came to rest on the gilded doors of the Tiber Septim Hotel.

_Get some FOOD!_

_----------_

A bowl of soup later, and Templar was wandering towards the Market District. The marble, the statues (of naked women, too), the immaculate lawns, the topiary, the stupidly huge monuments…

It was magnificent, even in the rain. He could see why people called it the City of Dreams.

But obviously they hadn't been through the sewers.

The Imperial City was circular and was essentially divided into seven sections, six wedges on the outside with a smaller circle in the middle, which was the Palace District. The Market District was on the far side of the city, to the north. To get to it, he had to pass through the Talos Plaza district and Green Emperor Way. Luckily for him, the city was obsessively planned around straight lines and grids, so it was quite hard to get lost.

He set off along the sloping colonnade that led into the City. Each side of the thoroughfare was lined with huge, ornate columns, interspersed with majestic statues of Emperors down through the ages. Red banners bearing the crest of the Septims hung from every rooftop. After fifty metres or so, Templar emerged into the real Talos Plaza. A great statue of Akatosh, the Dragon God, roared at the sky on a pedestal in the centre, surrounded by a small garden. The more upper-class shops and services ringed the circular space, which, though usually bustling with people, was eerily silent. Templar walked across the vast area and kept straight on going, under an overpass that connected the two sides of the street. The mansions of the wealthy stared down at him, the shutters drawn against the cold. The street curved right, then left, and after a short while Templar could see another square, this one more of a park or garden.

He was _sure_ the Imperial Palace looked no bigger than it had five minutes ago.

Templar continued in the same fashion, passing various landmarks, commercial and residential areas before coming before the second ring of walls that encircled the Palace District. This gate, however, was open, and he splashed onwards as the tired old guard in the gatehouse waved him through. The two legionnaires, on either side of the gate, stared straight ahead as he walked past.

He trundled off around Green Emperor Way, with White Gold Tower on one side and a line of columns on the other. The royals certainly liked their impressive monuments. Gravestones dotted the grass to his left, generations of royal blood all entombed outside the Palace. Uriel Septim's sons were probably buried somewhere there. And the Emperor himself soon would be, too.

It was no wonder that being Emperor was said to be a rather depressing job. Staring at all those gravestones all day would certainly get on your nerves.

After another few hundred metres, he came to the entrance of the Market District. Once again, the guard waved him though without incident. It must have taken enormous strength of character to stand still like that in the rain, just staring over the gravestones, arm raised in permanent salute.

Right, the Market District. There were around a dozen curving rows of shops, selling everything from dodgy alchemical equipment to the finest jewellery in Tamriel. While there were shops in other parts of the City, this was the true marketplace. The Markets were divided into rough areas, each dealing with a different type of item. Armour and weaponry were in the second row, past all the expensive luxury goods. It didn't help that each row of shops was several hundred metres long, but eventually he found what he was looking for. He dodged past a rectangular, columned storage area, sidestepped a statue of some famous hero, and stopped before the first name that caught his eye. The Best Defence.

It was an unassuming little shop, made up of two stories and a small overhang above the doorway. A lantern fizzed beside the door, making a welcoming little pool of light. Templar knocked quietly and stepped inside.

Templar ducked into the doorway, the stuffy warmth a welcome change from the rain. Then he bumped his head on the doorframe.

"_Ow! I HAD to hit my head on the stupid bloody DOOR!"_

The shopkeeper didn't even look up. "Bad day?"

Templar sighed. "Yeah."

The shop was square, thick-walled and high-ceilinged, with a stairway leading up to the second story at the back. Two counters sat in front of the back and right walls, with a low table in the centre of the room. A thick carpet covered a part of the stone floor, and tapestries and paintings were hung up on the walls. Rain drummed against the thin arched windows, and the only illumination was provided by scores of flickering candles. Pieces of armour were set up on display on various stands and pedestals, and there were a couple of benches set along the front of the room for busier times.

The shopkeeper himself was a Redguard, and was wearing a beautifully polished suit of steel armour, sword belted at his side. His chocolate-brown hair was pressed in close around his head, and his skin was a tanned a deep brown. A friendly smile lit up his face, and his eyes seemed genuinely friendly.

"The rain does that to you. It's the only bad thing about living here. So, what would you be looking for in my humble little store?"

Templar thought for a bit. "Some new armour. And maybe you could repair my sword."

"That's easily done," the shopkeeper replied. "If you have the money, that is. How about you take a look at the armour we've got available, and you can fiddle around with it while I fix your sword? Or better yet, I can get my assistant to repair the sword while I lounge and try to get you to spend large amounts of money."

"Okay. Sounds good." He grinned.

The shopkeeper turned, and stopped. "What's so important that you had to brave the rain to come here, anyway?"

"Nothing much. Just time. I need some stuff fairly quickly."

"Okey-dokey. I'll just get the real stuff from out the back. The suits here are just for display."

Templar sat down on a bench. A minute or so later, the shopkeeper emerged with three large packages. "By the way, the name'sVarnado"

"Templar."

"Nice to meet you. I assume you're a heavy armour guy, from the stuff you've got at the moment."

"I suppose…"

"So, here we have three choices for the new adventurer. Over here," – he held up the first bag and threw the contents out over the counter – "we have protection for the budget conscious, with some older iron armour. It's not exactly state-of-the-art, but it works."

"That looks suspiciously like what I've got on now. And it's seem better times." Templar observed.

"Yeah. Yours is a little more dented, though. Obviously had a bit of use, lately. Anyway, here we have choice two. The brand new iron armour. Same as the first except a little better looking."

"Wait. Do you have anything…" Templar searched for a word. "…Prettier?"

"That's my _third_ option. The new whiz-bang steel armour, fresh from the great foundries of the Imperial City." He flashed a toothy smile.

Templar took one glance. "I'll take it."

The helmet was of polished steel, with a T-shaped opening at the front for visibility. The breastplate and shoulder pads fitted nicely, and small ridges protected him from nasty decapitations. The armguards and gauntlets allowed freedom of movement as well as providing protection, as did the kneepads, leg and hip guards. The boots were pointed, which would come in useful for kicking any unwary enemies. Each piece was finely crafted, with a simple, elegant design that was functional as well as ornate.

"You'll certainly bring in the ladies with that on," Varnardo said. "Now, do you want me to repair your sword, or buy a new one. I'll throw in a shield for free."

"Wait. How much does the armour cost?" Templar asked cautiously.

"A couple of thousand, and that's a bargain."

"What?!"

"No, only kidding. It comes to around 1300 gold, with the steel longsword and shield. You're lucky you didn't go to the other shop cross the road. They would've swindled you without a second glance."

_Damn. He could just imagine it._ _Watch out! The adventures of Templar the Hopeless are soon coming to a town near you! Watch him lose enormous amounts of money on what should have been easy transactions! Watch him invest in companies that soon collapse from gross undermanagement! Yes, indeed, cheer in joy when this man comes to your shop as he'll buy any thing at any price!_

_Yeah, right._

"You alright?"

Templar was jerked back to the store. "Wha- oh, sorry. Right. Ummm, if I sell my old armour, and these jewels and things, what would I get for them?"

"Oh, about 100 gold."

"You're kidding, right?"

Varnado sighed exasperatedly. "Yes, I am. You must be new around here. No, that'd give you around a thousand. Jewels aren't cheap, you know. Got three hundred septims lying around anywhere?"

"Yes, actually. I have three hundred gold." It was amazing what you could find while poking around in a cave.

"Ooo-kay then, hand me everything you want to sell and the gold and I'll get you your armour."

Deals were made. Money changed hands.

"Well." Varnado stepped back. "You are now the proud owner of a new set of steel armour."

It would take a bit of getting used to, but it was better than rusty iron. Although it had served him well, at least the steel didn't make him feel like a walking pot. "Thanks."

"No problem. Come by again. I'll be getting some new Dwarven armour in a couple of weeks."

"I'll think about it," Templar replied.

"Please do. See you later. Enjoy your new armour."

"I will. Bye."

Templar pushed the door open and found himself in glorious sunlight. The last bits of rain were dripping from the gutters, and the streets were filled with drying puddles. The sun gave everything a new, refreshed feeling as it glinted off the wet stone buildings – and his nice, shiny steel armour.

_Yeah. Much better._

_To Weynon Priory!_


	10. Meet Jauffre

_Author's Note: Basically, the intention of the multiple choice blocks is to provide "reread value" – you can read the story once choosing block one all the time and then read it again a bit later choosing block two. Of course, most of you probably read both blocks anyway, but that's the reason. Also, I decided to split this up into two chapters – 'Meet Jauffre,' which you're reading now, and 'The Search for the Heir,' which will come hopefully sooner than later. And I know that there aren't crossbows in Oblivion, but I like them, so they're in._

_I am aware that this chapter is slightly ludicrous, but I got carried away. The action was only meant to be a minor part, but now it's got its own chapter. Sorry about that._

Meet Jauffre

_**The Black Road, Approximately Half-Way Between The Imperial City and Chorrol, The Great Forest, Last Seed 28 3E433**_

Templar Estantesec awoke to snuffling. The sky above was dark, and he could see stars trough the tree canopy above the little clearing. Tamriel's two moons provided just enough light to silhouette the forest around him. Rather disturbingly, something appeared to be nuzzling his face. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, but unwanted nuzzling probably had to be prevented.

He pushed himself up and found himself staring at the face of a _bear_.

"Ahhh - _sh#t!" _he whispered loudly.

The bear leaned forward curiously, its whiskers tickling Templar's nose. He eased himself backwards a little, sliding out from under the bear's legs. Luckily, it seemed to be a cub, and a rather friendly one too. Templar just hoped he wouldn't get to meet the mother-

Something roared and charged towards him.

And so began a night spent sleeping in a tree.

----------

He'd managed to make it quite far before having to stop for the night. Apart from an overly inquisitive bear, things had been rather relaxing for a change. Which was nice, no doubt about that. Anyway, the sun was now high in the sky, so Templar shook himself off, belted his sword to his waist and began making his way back towards the road.

_Yes, the bear had made things rather hairy (Ooooh! I made a pun) there for a moment, although the snuffling and wet nose had been rather cute. That was, of course, when momma bear had come along to see what her baby was doing._

The huge trees of the Great Forest towered all around him, the meandering road cutting a rough path through the trunks. Ruins and villages were nestled in the foliage, some long abandoned to the rampant growth of the forest. Sunlight poked through the canopy, the beams lazily waving about on the dappled forest floor. Insects and birds chirped and sang, and there was a rich smell of dirt and decaying leaves.

It wasn't a bad day to be walking, really, although it would've been better if he had a.) a horse or b.) some food.

_Stupid Templar had forgotten to by food while gallivanting around in the Imperial City. Oh, well. There'd be some food at Weynon Priory. Monks were meant to give out food for the needy, right?_

Right.

-----------

He managed to buy some food from a little farm by the road, a few kilometers from Chorrol. The loaf of bread was crisp and hot, and the apples were fresh and shiny. He'd solved the water problem by filling up his empty potion flasks with some water from a little stream that had run by the road for a while. It was almost midday before Templar could see the Priory buildings poking above the trees. He could see only one person, a man who had just exited the main building.

He jogged up to the man, who was swiftly heading for the chapel door. "Hey! Is this Weynon Priory?"

The man frowned vaguely. "I think it's over that way -" he waved an arm in the general direction of the Imperial City "- somewhere."

"Right. It isn't. Well, I'll just be going in to talk to Jauffre."

The man abruptly stopped. "Oh. All right then. He should be in his study."

"And where is that?" Templar called after the man's receding back. But he got no answer, as the priest had hurriedly entered the chapel.

_Nice to meet you, too. Then again, anyone who decides to devote their whole life to praying to an unseen god is probably not entirely stable._

Weynon Priory was made up of four buildings – some sort of farmhouse on the left, the barracks or whatever those priestly types called it in the middle, the chapel itself to the right and a stable out the back. The chapel was quite small, boasting a short, crenellated tower (complete with large stained-glass windows) connected to the main hall. The farmhouse was built of stone bricks, with a wooden door and window shutters and a thatched roof. The priory house was a two storey building, with two pointy-roofed sections on either side of the centre. Next to the entrance there was a large arched tunnel that led through to the stable, and the buildings was made of stone, with a tiled roof. The windows were thin, although there were two larger ones on the second storey. A well stood in the front courtyard, which was riddled with mushrooms growing from cracks in the road. The whole complex was ringed by a low stone wall, and the grounds were filled with trees. The walls of Chorrol were some way off to the left, and mountains could be seen poking their heads above the horizon.

Templar shook his head free of unnecessary descriptive words and pushed open the wooden door that was the entrance to the priory house.

There were stairs immediately in front of him, which split off to either side halfway up. To his left was what seemed to be a dining area, with a small table and four chairs set on a rug that covered the cold stone floor. A well-used fireplace was at the far end of the room, and in one corner there was a desk of some sort squeezed next to some old cupboards. A few paintings attempted to make the drab walls seem remotely interesting. Even though light streamed in through the front windows, the room still seemed dim and dusky.

Right, up the stairs. A golden candelabra dangled from overhead. The second storey was split into two sections. One appeared to be the sleeping area – four beds, each with a chest of possessions at the end, were laid along the left wall. The area to the right seemed to be some sort of place for the contemplation of the most profound problems of the universe, as several writing desks were set along one wall, and a bookshelf (albeit mostly bookless) was leaning against the opposite wall. There was also a lectern in one corner and another shelf of vaguely scientific-looking glass bottles and things.

Seated at a large desk at the far end of the room, bathed in the light of the midday sun, was an old man. He wore the robes of a priest, and was studiously scribbling notes on a piece of parchment while reading some sort of large book.

Templar sincerely hoped it was Jauffre, because otherwise he'd have to try the chapel and describe that as well.

The man looked up as Templar approached. "Is this Weynon Priory?" he asked bluntly.

The man replied equally bluntly. "Yes, this is Weynon Priory, a monastery. We are a monastic order devoted to divine Talos, who was the mortal Tiber Septim, the founder of the Empire." He allowed himself a brief smile. "At least, that's what the official motto says. You haven't come to join us, have you? We're full at the moment." He looked back down at his book and began muttering faintly.

"No," Templar said uncertainly. "I'm not here to join you. Is there any chance that I'm speaking to Jauffre?"

The man looked up suddenly. "Yes, I'm Jauffre. What do you want?"

_So, this is the great Jauffre that Baurus told me about._ _Not exactly what I was expecting._

Jauffre would have been at least sixty years old, and he wore the plain brown robes of a priest. He was bald except for two portions of grey hair which covered either side of his head just above the ears, and his deep brown eyes had a kind of hawkish look about them.

_If you say, "I brought you the Amulet of Kings," go to block one._

_If you say, "The Emperor sent me to find you," go to block two._

_----------_

1

Templar decided to be brief. The look of shock on Jauffre's face would have to be worth something.

"I brought you the-" _CRASH – Thwack – tinkle tinkle tinkle – _

Templar jumped. "What the _oblivion_ was that!"

A second crossbow bolt flashed past his face, ricocheting off the stone wall in a spray of sparks and embedding itself in a cupboard. There was a bit of yelling from downstairs, and more sounds of breaking glass.

_Continue with the main story._

_----------_

2

_Go on. Blow the old fart's scowl right off his face!_

"The Emp-" _CRASH – Thwack – tinkle tinkle tinkle – _

Templar jumped. "In the name of Akatosh-"

A second crossbow bolt flashed past his face, ricocheting off the stone wall in a spray of sparks and embedding itself in a cupboard. There was a bit of yelling from downstairs, and some more tinkling of glass.

_Continue with the main story._

_----------_

Main Story

"Oh dear. I thought they weren't coming until one," Jauffre said worriedly.

Templar frowned. "Who?"

"Well, as we're a religious order, it's assumed we can pray for people and cure them of their illnesses. So, every week we get the city's whole contingent of mentally deranged prisoners here for a couple of hours."

"Right. _What?"_

"Oh, don't worry, you'll soon get used to it. We're all slightly mad here. I mean, Brother Maborel thought he could fly last week, and we could only calm him down with a few dried frog pills."

_"What?"_

Jauffre smiled. "I suggest you ignore it and follow me. When one of those madmen is a mage, you know you'll start having problems."

"A mad mage. This keeps on getting better and better, doesn't it." Templar sighed.

"You should've have been here last week," Jauffre replied. "They almost set the Priory on fire."

There was a faint smell of burning from downstairs. Someone frantically called "Fire!"

"And this week I believe that they actually have." Jauffre turned. "You'd better come downstairs. A bit of help would be greatly appreciated."

Templar sighed again. "Sure. As long as I can talk to you afterwards. It's _important._"

----------

Templar and Jauffre edged cautiously down the stairs, ever wary for stray crossbow bolts.

A voice sailed up form outside. "Father Abbott! What's the spell for putting out fires! The farmhouse is starting to smoke!"

"Just dump water on it, you idiot! There's a well outside, use it! " Jauffre bellowed back.

"Practical," Templar observed.

"Yes, some of the monks seem to forget about the old-fashioned way to do things. Especially Brother Piner. He's a bit of a magic addict."

They edged a bit further. Another crossbow bolt flashed past and thwacked into the wood beside Jauffre's head.

"Oh, stuff this." Jauffre pulled a jewel-encrusted longsword out from under his robes.

_Stuff this? Not appropriate language for a monk, is it?_

Jauffre turned to Templar and smiled. "Let's lay on the smackdown, shall we? For the farmhouse!"

----------

They emerged into a battle scene. Brother Piner had ducked behind the well and was being sprayed with errant fireballs. Two more monks were trying to put out the fire on the farmhouse roof, while a trio of bruised and battered Chorrol city guards were darting from tree to tree at the front of the Priory. They were largely weaponless, as the prisoners had managed to disarm them and were now using their weapons against them.

What Templar assumed were the escaped prisoners / madmen had taken refuge around the chapel. One was trying to chop down the walls of the chapel with a dagger, while another two (one armed with a crossbow and the other with magic) were merrily firing away at Brother Piner, who was not-so-merrily firing back.

Templar saw one of the prisoners howl in pain as one of Brother Piner's lightning bolts crackled past his arm. "Exactly _where_ did they get the weapons from? And why is that one trying to make a hole in the chapel with a _dagger_?"

Jauffre shrugged. "As for the weapons, they probably stole them off the guards. And as for the madman, I expect he'll soon realize what he's doing and try chopping through the door."

Templar half-yelled back. "And _why_ don't they send more guards so this doesn't happen?"

"I assume that they have better things to do."

"Well, _I_ have better things to do than dodge fireballs!"

"I'm sure you do," Jauffre replied irritably.

"Listen," Templar said, a little calmer. "The Emperor died and gave me the Amulet of Kings-"

"_What?_" Jauffre turned and stared at him.

Templar dived and crash-tackled the elderly monk to the ground as a fireball exploded into the wall above them. The wood began to smoulder.

"Maybe later," Templar said hurriedly, dusting himself off.

"Yes," Jauffre answered, catching his breath. "Maybe later."

----------

Jauffre sprinted over to the low wall in front of the farmhouse, dragging Templar behind him. They both dived to the ground.

_Ow. I should learn to land without hurting myself._

"Okay, "Jauffre began. "Choice one: we flank them using what military men called tactics, and what religious men call divine inspiration. Or, we charge at them head on screaming various obscenities, in what military men call bravery and religious men also call divine inspiration."

_If you choose tactics, go to block one._

_If you choose what the general populace call stupidity, go to block two._

_----------_

1

"I think tactics would be the wiser choice at this moment in time."

"Good. Now all we need is a plan."

Templar poked his head over the top of the wall and quickly shot off a fireball.

"Right. How about I go left through the stables and you go right with the city guards."

Jauffre smiled grimly. "I agree. Brother Piner was always the better one at this, anyway."

Templar grinned back. "I shall see you at the other end of the pincer movement. Have a good trip."

He broke cover and ran for the side of the priory house. A crossbow bolt whizzed past him, and then he was there.

"Right. Here goes." He rounded the corner and found himself face-to-face with a claymore-wielding madman.

He looked back and saw that the chapel door was now indeed open. "Right," he said again. The man looked at him with hungry eyes.

He dived through the nearest window and back into the priory house.

_----------_

Jauffre crawled along the ground as crossbow bolts and the occasional ball of ice exploded into the wall he was taking cover behind. Chips of stone blasted out in all directions as the archer began to find his rhythm.

_I wonder where the other three lunatics are. There's usually six of them._

He waved briefly at the two brothers that were still trying to put out the fire, and kept crawling.

_----------_

Templar shook his head clear of any stray thoughts and focused on the task at hand. _Now, if I could get onto the roof, I could probably do some damage._

He heard a thunk as the madman threw his claymore through the window and then began climbing through himself.

Templar began running up the stairs.

_----------_

Brother Piner quivered with fury as he lay behind the well. _How dare they, entering a house of prayer with their foul hearts and lust for blood._

He formed a bit more electricity around his arm and blindly threw it around the side of the well, and was gratified to hear a brief scream. _Feel the wrath of Talos fall upon you._

Lightning crackled in the air.

_----------_

Jauffre counted to three and ran across the road, and then pressed himself up against a tree. He could see the three guards still making their way towards the prisoners near the chapel. They'd almost reached the side wall of the chapel and were preparing to make their way along it when-

Another prisoner launched himself from the chapel roof and fell screaming into the group of guards.

_----------_

Captain Winters cautiously led his men towards the chapel's outer wall so that they could come up on those three idiots from behind. His arm still burned from that bloody fireball that had grazed him earlier.

_Why, oh why did we have to get the short straws? _He groaned inwardly.

He signalled to his men and they formed up behind him. "You two get to the wall," he whispered. "I'll stay in the trees and-"

Everything went to hell.

_----------_

Templar whirled around wildly. Right. There had to be some sort of access to the second story somewhere.

_There. A ladder._

He heard a grunt and the slap of bare feet running across a stone floor. Templar stepped up onto the first rung and began pulling himself upwards. He pushed open the trapdoor and found that it opened onto a small, flat section of the roof at the back of the priory.

He pulled himself up – and would have succeeded had someone not grabbed onto his foot.

_----------_

_Bloody monks can't keep the wood-chopping axe locked up-_

Captain Winters stopped thinking briefly as an axe-blade scraped along his shield. The axeman spun around violently and slammed his axe into the next guard's shield, ducking a sword thrust from the third guard as he did so. _It was even worse because they didn't have any weapons-_

_-for when the madmen come around to play-_

Then the third guard stumbled and the axe bit deep into his shoulder.

_----------_

Brother Piner heard a scream and leaned around the side of the well. One madman was wreaking havoc in the circle of guards. As he watched, one went down to the man's axe, blood spraying from his shoulder. He formed another bolt of lightning in his palm and waited for a clear shot.

_Just you wait…_

_----------_

Brother Eronor looked up. "I WISH WE HAD SOME GODDAMNED pardon my language WATER!"

"Well, I'm afraid Brother Piner is rather busy at the moment," his companion replied. "And if you'd like to brave the crossfire, be my guest. Oh dear."

"What?"

"The guards seem to be having a bit of trouble."

Brother Eronor stopped his fire-putter-outerings and rushed off around the corner.

_----------_

_Oh my god. I really can't believe this. Fighting a group of escaped madmen. It could've have been a nice, peaceful resting place but no, it had to-_

The tugging became more insistent. Templar kicked downwards and hurriedly pulled his leg up onto the roof. He swiftly shut the trapdoor on the man's fingers, to howls of pain, and turned. A sloping, gabled roof rose up beside him. Templar crept along it, wedged himself against a chimneystack peppered with splinters, and peered over the edge. He could clearly see the troublesome mage. _Now, if he could only get a good shot-_

And a claymore struck him in the back.

_----------_

Brother Eronor came back holding a gilded hunting bow. "My da gave this to me for my 21st birthday. I always one the archery tourneys when I was young."

"Well, show us then," Brother Maborel said impatiently.

Brother Eronor put an arrow to the string, sighted down the shaft and fired.

Twang!

_----------_

Jauffre saw one of the guards go down to the prisoner's axe, and go sprawling across the forest floor. Normally, it would be nice walking in the forest, but not today. He began to run.

And saw a black-feathered shaft punch through the axe-wielding escapee's neck.

----------

Brother Maborel smiled. "Good shot brother!"

Brother Eronor didn't look nearly as pleased. "I didn't mean to kill him, only get him in the arm."

"I _really_ don't think it matters at the moment. Oh my god-"

They ducked as another fireball slammed into the _wooden_ window shutters behind them.

Flames began licking at the air.

"Oh, that's just _brilliant_."

_----------_

Templar went flying across the roof, landing heavily. He thrust himself upwards, both hands ready, caught the foot that swung towards him and stepped forwards, pushing the man off-balance. The man sprawled backwards on the slippery tiles, tried to get to his feet, and slipped again. His claymore flew from his grip – _thank goodness it was blunt – _and clattered onto the courtyard below. Templar stepped forwards and found his legs skidding away beneath him. Both men got up, tried to move, and fell over again.

From a prone position the man landed a kick on Templar's shoulder, sending them both sliding off in opposite directions, and then turned over and scuttled on all fours around the sloping rood. He grabbed the weathervane, hauled himself upright, and pulled out a knife.

_----------_

Jauffre looked up and saw that man who'd come in earlier grappling with another man on the priory roof. _Oh gods…_ _Well, that's the fifth man. Now where is the sixth?_

"Hey! Up there, on the roof! There must be one more man somewhere!"

He realised that he didn't even know the man's name.

_----------_

Templar stood up.

"Come and get me, then," the man said.

"I don't have to," Templar replied. "I just have to wait. _At least until I get my breath back._

"Why're you picking on me? What'm I supposed to have done?"

"Attempted murder ring a bell?" said Templar.

If injured innocence was money, the man's face was his fortune. "I don't know anything about-"

"I'm not here to play games. Knock it off."

"You going to take me alive, Mister Guard?"

_I'm not a guard, but I'm not sure that he cares._ "You know, I don't want to. But people think it's neater all round if I do."

There was a clattering of tiles away on the left, and Templar saw a hand grasping for purchase.

"That's my friend, coming to get you," the man said merrily. "I'm afraid you won't be around for much longer."

Templar whirled around. _What to do, what to do…_

But the madman was just standing there, insulting the world by his existence.

In fact he wasn't just standing there now. In one movement he'd swung himself onto a narrow ledge that overhung the front of the priory house. The wooden slats creaked ominously as the man walked.

"Stop right there!" Templar shouted. _No more death, if I can help it. _"And come back!" Picking his way with care, he reached the ledge himself. The man stepped back a little further. "I warn you-"

"Only high spirits, Mister Guard, haha! Can't blame a man for trying to enjoy his last few minutes of freedom, can you?"

"Actually, you'll find that I can. And will." Templar stepped gingerly out onto the ledge, which creaked a bit more. The man cheered.

"Well done, Mister Guard!" he sad, still stepping backwards.

"Don't mess about. It'll go badly for you!" _Or possibly me…_

"Badder than it's going to go anyway?" The man glanced down. "Long way down, Mister Guard. I reckon a man'd die instantly falling all that way, wouldn't he?"

Templar glanced down, and the madman leapt.

_----------_

Jauffre decided to ignore the confrontation on the roof for the moment and deal with more immediate problems. The mage, for instance. He ran up to the two remaining guards, who were leaning over their fallen comrade.

"Come one. We've got to get them."

"I agree with you on that, sir," the Captain replied. "Do you think an all-out charge would be needed?"

Jauffre smiled. "Yes. I think that would do nicely."

_----------_

Brothers Eronor and Maborel gestured impatiently at Brother Piner.

"Come _on!_" he shouted, and fired off another arrow to keep their attackers' heads down.

Brother Piner gathered up his robes – damned nuisance, they were – and prepared to sprint for the low wall.

He quickly threw one last lightning bolt and broke cover, sprinting for all he was worth. Brother Eronor began firing arrows madly, while Brother Maborel had resorted to throwing rocks.

_----------_

It didn't go the way he'd planned. Templar had been tensed for something like this. After a complicated moment, the madman was lying on the ledge, one arm under him, the other outflung and being banged heavily on the metal by Templar. The knife it had held skidded away.

"Gods, you must think I'm stupid," Templar growled. "You wouldn't let go of a knife if you didn't have another one!" _At least, I'd carry two knives if I could afford it._

He felt around the man's waist and pulled out another knife, dropping it over the edge. There was another clatter of tiles from somewhere behind him. _Oh, I'd forgotten about him._

"I didn't think you was stupid, Mister Guard…"

"What?" said Templar, looking down suddenly. The madman was smiling cheerfully.

"I said I didn't think you was stupid, Mister Guard. I know a clever guard like you would think I'd got two knives."

"Yeah, right," said Templar, looking around for a way to escape from the second man that was surely now climbing across the roof towards him.

"Mister Guard?"

"_What?_" Templar snapped. He could hear slow footsteps from the other end of the roof.

"I got three knives," said the man, bringing his arm up.

_----------_

Brother Piner was hauled over the wall by his two companions, and landed breathless on the grass.

"Right," he said. "Shall we lay down a suppressing fire to support what appears to be an open charge that's about to start over there?"

Brother Maborel looked up, saw Jauffre and the guards. "Oh. I didn't see them."

"Brother Eronor smiled. "Suppressing fire it is."

Brothers Eronor and Piner popped up and began shooting like mad, while Brother Maborel continued to throw rocks.

_----------_

Jauffre and the guards charged. The two guards beside him were shouting some sort of obscene war cry, ducking behind their shield and arrows and errant fireballs slashed past. He could see his three monks firing madly at the attacker. _Talos bless _them, he though fondly. Jauffre pulled out his sword and held it high.

"For – what was the other guard's name?" he said breathlessly.

"The Captain grunted back. "Sobel. Private Sobel."

Jauffre yelled out. "For Talos and Sobel!"

_Being a Blade does have its moments._

_----------_

Templar rolled away and saw the other man step out from behind the chimney. He looked down. _I am _seriously_ not even considering this._

_No way._

_Yes way._

He heard the knife-wielder step towards him – and jumped.

_----------_

He dived.

In slow motion, as it always is.

The window below him was shattered by a crossbow bolt, also in slow motion. Whirling shards of glass can be done really well with CGI nowadays.

The ground came up to meet him, quite fast, really.

He saw the man below him, so close that he could look into the eyes above the man's bemused grin and watch the demons waving.

_Oh my god, how could I have been so BLOODY stupid-_

He landed.

_----------_

Jauffre and his guards paused momentarily to watch the spectacle of a man jumping from a roof. And then slammed into their attackers, swords swinging.

_----------_

Brother Maborel paused from his rock-throwing and, for the first time, noticed that there were three men fighting on the roof. The one he'd been vague to before – he really couldn't _stand_ visitors – was standing perilously close to the edge. And Brother Maborel saw him jump off the edge, and into the sparkling blue sky.

_Oh look, he's flying._ And then Brother Maborel remembered that people could not, in fact, fly, and that he'd almost broken several bones a week earlier trying to.

He vaulted the wall and began running.

_----------_

Brother Piner had a startled look at Brother Marborel's retreating back, frowned, and turned back to suppressing. With gusto.

_----------_

Brother Eronor noticed, also for the first time, that there were three men on the roof of the priory house. The _roof._ And then he saw one jump off the edge.

Since Jauffre and the guards seemed to be doing alright, and probably didn't need any more suppressing, he shot the two scruffy men still on the roof right through the chest.

_----------_

A man in fifteen kilos of steel armour can have quite a bit of momentum when he wants to.

And that was what happened when he almost crushed Brother Maborel, who had been trying to catch him.

He rolled off Brother Maborel, who had collapsed beneath him, and groaned.

"Really, I don't know how I get myself into these situations."

"I must admit that it was a bit more hectic that normal," said Jauffre. "Usually it's all sorted out with a few gentle knocks on the head."

"Hectic? I-"

The smell of burning thatch reached their collective nostrils. Brothers Maborel and Eronor looked at each other.

"The farmhouse."

"On fire."

"That we were supposed to put out."

"Right."

_Continue with the main story._

----------

2

"I feel, personally," Templar said cautiously, "that this would be best solved by a head-on charge."

"_You've_ got the armour on," Jauffre pointed out.

"True. Anyway, if you could just stay back and give me some support-?"

"Of course."

"That would be great."

_----------_

Templar pulled down his visor determinedly. _Well, Varnado, I hop you sell good quality steel._

He strapped his shield to his arm and drew his sword.

And stood up.

Almost immediately, he was struck by a crossbow bolt on his shoulder. He ducked his head down and kept on going. He could hear Brother Piner shouting encouragement from the well that was somewhere in front of him. He felt another two crossbow bolts thwack into his shield, and a fireball screamed past overhead.

_Ooh, baked in his own armour. Bad way to die._

He stepped forward.

_----------_

Brother Piner saw the mage preparing to shoot at the steel-armoured man. He flashed off a lightning bolt but missed a couple of feet. The mage flinched but stayed standing. He turned. It was still a couple of metres to the well.

"Dive! Hurry up and dive!"

_----------_

Templar turned towards the voice.

"Dive! Hurry up and dive!"

He dived.

A fireball screeched over his head as he skidded to a stop next to Brother Piner, raising a trail of dust.

"Thanks."

"It was my pleasure. Well, not really my pleasure, but you know-"

"Later."

"Right," Brother Piner replied quickly.

Templar frowned. "If you take cover behind my shield, can you shoot a few lightning bolts at them so I can make it across the courtyard?"

"Probably…"

"Okay. Here." Templar handed the shield to Brother Piner, who sagged a little under the weight.

"Now, if you hold it up, at least you're protected from crossbow bolts, but not from magic. At least it gives me a fifty-percent-greater chance to escape unscathed. You ready?"

Brother Piner nodded determinedly. He took a deep breath, stood up. Templar threw himself forwards-

"They're gone!"

_----------_

Jauffre peered up at the scene before him. There was the armoured man, talking to Brother Piner. And there were their attackers, retreating inside the chapel.

Brother Piner stood up, now with the man's shield. The man himself started sprinting across the courtyard.

"They've gone inside the chapel!"

Jauffre, Templar, the trio of city guards and the three other monks (who had managed to put out the fire now that water was freely available) huddled together beside the low wall.

"Well, this is great," Templar said sarcastically.

"Look on the bright side. Brother Eronor's house isn't going to burn down."

Templar sighed frustratedly. "Look at the _now_. We have three-"

"Make that five," Jauffre interrupted. "Another two just darted out from behind the gravestones and ran in."

"Even better," Templar replied with a fake smile.

"But there should be another one hiding around somewhere," Jauffre continued. "We usually get six of them."

"Oh, for GOD'S SAKE!" Templar hit the wall.

Brother Piner spoke up. "I say that we go in there, blast the lot of them and blow those sons of lady dogs right out through the stained-glass windows."

"I have no disagreements with that plan, other than that we should probably save the windows. Enough of them have been broken today." Jauffre frowned. "And was the 'sons of lady dogs' really necessary, Brother Piner?"

"What, would you have preferred me to say sons of bit-"

"Swear jar!"

_----------_

The chapel was fairly small as far as chapels went in Cyrodiil. It was simply furnished, with pews set in two rows, leaving a walkway down the centre of the hall. Light poked in through several stained-glass windows along each side, with one circular window above the slightly-raised altar. Offerings of food and flowers lay on tables beside the altar, and the chapel's stone roof was high above them.

The eight men lined up on either side of the chapel door. Captain Winters took charge.

"Brother Maborel, would you mind standing a bit closer to the door?"

"What for?"

Something shattered on the cobbles. Brother Maborel was suddenly flat against the wall, breathing heavily.

"One's got a crossbow," said Captain Winters. "He stole it from" – he glared at one of the guards – "Sobel here. But he's not very good with it."

Maborel smiled weakly. "Thank you, Captain."

"Not a problem. Now, what happens is that Jauffre will come with me and my men on the right and you" – he pointed at Templar – "will take Brothers Piner, Maborel and Eronor along the left. My group will clear out the chapel roof, and yours will clear out the chapel undercroft. That is, of course, if they're not in the main hall. On the count of three, I will push the door open, and Brother Piner will let off a few lightning bolts. Everyone clear?"

There was nervous nodding.

"On my mark," Captain Winters whispered. "Three, two, one, go!"

_----------_

Being a madman, it must be said, is not a pleasant occupation. It is even less pleasant when some sort of warrior monk is shooting lightning bolts at you.

Electricity flew from Brother Piner's fingers as he fired into the hall. After a couple of seconds, he stepped back and smiled madly.

"Well done, Brother Piner," Captain Winters observed. "You've actually managed to make the air itself smoke."

The eight charged in through the open door.

_----------_

They met no resistance, other than two somewhat dazed men who quickly surrendered. They were quickly dispatched by a couple of knocks on the head and tied up in a corner.

"That leaves four…" Jauffre murmured.

Captain Winters led his men to the ladder that led up to the chapel roof. Templar led the monks to the trapdoor that led to the chapel undercroft.

Captain Winters stopped at the base of the ladder and turned to face his men and Jauffre. "I'll go up and check it out. When I give the all clear, you follow me. OK?"

There were more nods of acquiescence. Winters grasped the bottom of the ladder. "Wish me luck." He carefully cocked his crossbow.

He started hauling himself upwards towards the ceiling, and stopped just below the edge of the open trapdoor that led to the roof. _No one_ nowadays would fall for the old 'helmet-on-a-stick' trick, not with a single shot crossbow. He'd just have to risk it.

Winters thrust his head up, turned it quickly, ducked out of sight for a moment and then came through the opening in a rush. He rolled clumsily and rose into a crouch. There was no one there. He was still alive. He breathed out.

And then he felt rather foolish, as the only area for anyone to stand on was the tiny tower-top.

So where was the crossbowman?

_----------_

Templar led the way down the dusty stairs that led into the chapel undercroft. He hated to say it, but it was rather spooky down there, with god knows what hiding in the shadows.

He heard footsteps pitter-pattering across the dry stone floor. Then Brother Eronor's torch went out.

"Eronor! Get a goddamned flint and light the goddamned torch!"

There were some scrapings in the darkness, and suddenly light bloomed from the torch again. Templar sighed with relief. And saw two scruffy men emerge from the darkness, swords in hand.

_----------_

Captain Winters walked to the edge of the tower and leant against the battlements. A brisk breeze was blowing, and he could see for miles around. Then he heard what was unmistakably the sound of a safety catch being eased off. He looked down.

And found himself staring into the dangerous end of a crossbow.

_----------_

It was quite messy, fighting in the dark in a confined space. But it was four on two, and after a few seconds both men were subdued. Brother Piner's lightning bolts were quite effective.

_Two left…_

_----------_

The two Chorrol guards lounged around the bottom of the ladder.

"You hear that Morrowind is preparing for war again?"

"No. But they always are, aren't they?"

They didn't even notice the man that stealthily crept past them and lowered himself down into the undercroft.

_----------_

Templar saw movement in the corner of his eye, whirled on reflex and shot off a quick fireball.

He was quite surprised to see it strike a leaping man in the chest, smashing him into the closest wall.

_One left…_

_----------_

_He was standing on the roof, not the tower…_

Captain Winters did the unexpected. He leapt over the tower battlements and _right at_ the crossbowman.

This, of course, happened in slow motion, with some really great camera angles.

A crossbow bolt whipped past him as he fell, leaving those fashionable ripples of air as it sped along.

Captain Winters dropped. There was a close up of his grim expression, which was appropriately menacing.

The bolt ricocheted off a chink in the stone wall (with sparks) and, rather improbably, bounced back the way it came and speared the crossbowman through the eye. There was a brief, fake looking shower of blood, and some cheesy groaning as the man toppled from the chapel roof.

Captain Winters landed with a perfectly executed roll and came to his feet. He said, "Have a nice trip," in a hugely clichéd sarcastic voice.

And cut! That's a wrap.

Well done people.

_----------_

Captain Winters led his men back to the City, grinning like mad. "You should've seen it! I dived off the edge, right…"

The three monks went back to their duties as if nothing had happened. This, of course, was quite normal for them, if a bit more energetic than the usual confrontation.

Jauffre turned to Templar as they walked towards the Priory House. "Come. We have things to discuss."

_Continue with the Main Story._

----------

Main Story

They were once again sitting in Jauffre's study. Jauffre sat behind his desk, and looked at Templar over steepled fingers. Templar himself sat awkwardly in a too-small chair, waiting for Jauffre to speak. After a minute or so, he couldn't bear the silence.

"So," Templar began.

"So…" Jauffre replied. He paused. "You have _really_ decreased the amount of unbroken windows here."

Templar shifted in his seat. "True."

Another long pause.

"I must say, that after you helped us fix that little problem, you command considerably more respect from me than when you first came in here demanding to know where Jauffre was."

"That's good."

"I'm sorry if I was slightly rude to you."

"Oh, don't worry," Templar replied. "Most people don't like me at first sight. Except the Emperor."

"Ah, yes, the Emperor. What you said quite shocked me at first. I believe that you had to drag me out of the way of a fireball. You were saying?"


	11. Explanations

_Author's Note: I decided to split this up into two chapters – 'Meet Jauffre,' which is the rather pointless previous chapter, and 'Explanations,' which is what you're reading now. _

_I hope you like how I've done Jauffre. I was originally going to do him a bit like Dr. Kleiner from Half-Life 2, or give him a bad habit or SOMETHING, but that didn't work out, so he's fairly similar to how he is in the game with a bit of added character._

_EDIT: In the game Jauffre already knows about the Emperor's death when you talk to him, but I didn't realise that until I started writing. So in the story he doesn't, until you tell him. And the chapter's name has been changed from 'The Search for the Heir' to 'Explanations.' No big reason, but 'The Search for the Heir' seemed a bit unwieldy._

Explanations

_Note: This bit of multiple choice is a bit convoluted, but follow it as best you can._

_**Weynon Priory, Outskirts of Chorrol, The Great Forest, Last Seed 28 3E433**_

Jauffre smiled. "You were saying?"

_If you say, "I brought you the Amulet of Kings," go to block one._

_If you say, "The Emperor sent me to find you," go to block three._

_----------_

1

"I brought you the Amulet of Kings," Templar said.

Jauffre's eyes opened wide. "What?"

"I brought you the Amulet of Kings," Templar repeated.

Jauffre's eyes opened wider. "This cannot be. No one but the Emperor is permitted to handle the Amulet of Kings."

"The Emperor's dead," Templar replied flatly. _I should've realised that they would suppress the news._

"What?!" Jauffre breathed in suddenly. He pushed his chair back, stood up, and turned to look out the window behind him. "The Emperor _dead… _Wait. Show me the Amulet. That might help make a bit of sense out of this."

Templar fished it out from under his armour and wordlessly handed it to Jauffre, who gingerly took it from his grasp.After what seemed an endless moment, he leaned back in his chair and turned to face Templar.

"So the Emperor is dead. And by the Nine, this IS actually the Amulet of Kings. I think you'd better start at the beginning - ?"

"Templar. Templar Estantesec."

"So, Templar, you are carrying the arguably the most powerful news in Tamriel and arguably the most powerful artifact. I suppose that I have to ask what happened."

Templar sighed. "I suppose you should."

_Go to block 2._

_----------_

2

"…and then, just before he died, the Emperor told me that" – Templar shuddered – "he couldn't go any further, and that I al…alone must stand against the Prince, umm, The Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants…" Templar trailed off.

"Go on," Jauffre said, his voice gently encouraging.

"And that – and that he must not have the Amulet of Kings. He said that I couldn't help him when I tried to get his guards to come, and that I couldn't change his fate." He choked a little on the words. "Then he said, oh, he said to take the Amulet and take it to Jauffre, and that you alone know where to find his – find his last son…"

"Anything else?"

"There was something. It didn't make sense to me at the time, and still doesn't but… He said to find his heir, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion. And then I made my way here."

"Close shut the jaws of Oblivion," Jauffre murmured faintly, almost too quietly to hear. "Close shut the jaws of Oblivion…" Suddenly, he seemed to regain control of himself again.

"As unlikely as your story sounds, I have no choice to believe it. Only the strange destiny of Uriel Septim could have brought you to me with the Amulet of Kings."

_If you say, "Who is the Prince of Destruction?" go to block 6._

_If you say, " 'Close shut the jaws of Oblivion…?' " go to block 7._

_----------_

3

"The Emperor sent me to find you."

"Emperor Uriel?" Jauffre asked. "Do you know anything about his whereabouts? He hasn't been seen for days."

Templar stopped when he realised Jauffre didn't know about the death of his Emperor. He decided to come right out with it, as kindly as he could.

"Jauffre," he said gently. "The Emperor's dead."

_If you say, "I was there when he died," got to block 4._

_If you say, "He gave me the Amulet of Kings," go to block 5._

_----------_

4

"I was there when he died," Templar added softly.

Jauffre sat, his face frozen in a mixture of shock and horror and sadness. Templar felt sympathy for the old man, knowing how hard it would be to accept the death of what was probably a close friend.

"You'd better explain yourself. Now."

Templar didn't realise who'd spoken for a second, until he saw that that it was Jauffre. He kept staring straight ahead at the wall, with not a twitch in his expressionless face. His lips moved again.

"Now."

"He gave me the Amulet of Kings," Templar continued.

"What?!" Jauffre breathed in suddenly. "Why? Why not one of his Blades?"

Templar fished it out from under his armour and wordlessly handed it to Jauffre, who gingerly took it from his grasp.After what seemed an endless moment, he leaned back in his chair and turned to face Templar.

"So the Emperor is dead. And by the Nine, this IS actually the Amulet of Kings. I think you'd better start at the beginning - ?"

"Templar. Templar Estantesec."

"So, Templar, you are carrying the arguably the most powerful news in Tamriel and arguably the most powerful artifact. I suppose that I have to ask what happened."

Templar sighed. "I suppose you should."

_Go to block 2._

_----------_

5

"He gave me the Amulet of Kings," Templar continued.

"What?!" Jauffre breathed in suddenly. He pushed his chair back, stood up, and turned to look out the window behind him. "The Emperor _dead…_" He sighed."Wait. Show me the Amulet. That might help make a bit of sense out of this."

Templar fished it out from under his armour and wordlessly handed it to Jauffre, who gingerly took it from his grasp.After what seemed an endless moment, he leaned back in his chair and turned to face Templar.

"So the Emperor is dead. And by the Nine, this is actually the Amulet of Kings. I think you'd better start at the beginning - ?"

"Templar. Templar Estantesec."

"So, Templar, you are carrying the arguably the most powerful news in Tamriel and arguably the most powerful artifact. I suppose that I have to ask what happened."

Templar sighed. "I suppose you should."

_Go to block 2._

_----------_

6

"I'm glad you believe me. At least someone does," Templar said, with some relief. _Otherwise I'll be locked up in that damned prison again._ "Do you know who the Prince of Destruction is? It would probably help…"

Jauffre answered quickly. "The Prince of Destruction the Emperor is referring – referred – to is none other than Merhunes Dagon, one of the lords of the demon's world of Oblivion." He paused and took a deep breath, as if doubting what he was about to say. "It sounds ludicrous even to me, but the Emperor's words – 'close shut the jaws of Oblivion' – certainly suggest that he perceived some threat from Oblivion. And you should not take an Emperor's predictions lightly."

"Oblivion? It's _hell_. I though it was some sort of fairy tale that, you know, all the sinners would be chucked into, not a _place_. That you can visit."

"No, no." Jauffre chuckled without mirth. "Oblivion is very much real. But all the scholars agree that the mortal world is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by a magical barrier."

_Go to the Main Story._

_----------_

7

"I'm glad you believe me. At least someone does," Templar said, with some relief. _Otherwise I'll be locked up in that damned prison again._ "But close shut the jaws of Oblivion?"

"His meaning is unclear to me as well. The Emperor seemed to perceive some threat from the demonic world of Oblivion. And an Emperor's predictions should not be taken lightly. They can see differently from normal men…"

"Oblivion? It's _hell_. Like, you know, a place all the sinners would be chucked into, not a _real world_. That you can walk around in."

"No, Oblivion is very much real," Jauffre answered grimly. "Very real indeed. The Prince of Destruction, Merhunes Dagon, is one of the lords of Oblivion. But the mortal world is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by magical barriers."

_Go to the Main Story._

_----------_

Main Story

"How can Oblivion threaten us, then?" Templar asked. "Unless the Emperor meant that the magical barriers are failing…"

"I'm not sure. Only the Emperors truly understand the meaning behind the rituals of their office." He paused. "The Amulet of Kings is ancient. Saint Alessia herself received it from the gods. It is a holy relic of great power. When an Emperor is crowned, he uses the Amulet to light the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. We always assumed it was just a formality, of course – a bit of a symbolic thing to help the people accept a new Emperor. "

"And?"

"With the Emperor dead, and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires in the Temple will be dark for the first time in centuries. It may be that the Dragonfires protected us from a threat that only the Emperor was aware of."

"Damn." Templar swore. "This keeps on getting better and better. As you believe my story, I'm going to have to believe your story. Of course, I don't know anything about lighting Dragonfires or magical barriers." He laughed, but without much humour. "But you said there was no new heir. The Emperor told me that he had a secret son, living somewhere in Cyrodiil."

"Ah, yes. I am still not sure whether to trust you with this information, even after all that has been said."

"You can-"

"But I will," Jauffre interrupted. "I am one of the few who knows of his existence. Many years ago, I served as a captain of Uriel's bodyguards. One night, Uriel called me to his private chambers…"

_Rain lashed at the windows, and thunder boomed in the distance. It was not a good night._

_Jauffre rapped on the door uncertainly, in the back of his mind suspecting that the message was fake, a practical joke played by his men to commemorate his recent promotion. The Emperor almost never called people to his quarters, and certainly not a lowly Captain of the Guard._

_Suddenly, the door swung open, and the Emperor himself stood behind it._

_"Welcome. Come in. It is cold outside."_

_Jauffre stepped over the threshold and looked at his surroundings. The room was sparsely furnished, with a couple of plush armchairs, a small circular table on a thick rug in the centre and a large fireplace that crackled harshly at the back. _

_"I have something to show you." The Emperor beckoned him over to the table. Jauffre realised now that there was a basket on it, and something in that basket was moving._

_It was a baby boy._

_It was no more than a few weeks old, and was lying contentedly in the soft blankets that surrounded it. _

_"Jauffre. Captain of the Guard. I have a task for you. The future of Tamriel will depend on this child, so listen carefully."_

_Jauffre listened._

_"Deliver him somewhere safe. Where he will not be known as who he really is. And make sure he grows up as a priest. It will aid his understanding of things to come."_

_And so Jauffre rode out into the hard, driving rain, the baby held safely under his cloak. _

_A baby would be found on the doorstep of the Chapel of Kvatch, laid there on one stormy winter's night. He would grow up to be a priest, as his father wished, but also with no idea of his real identity._

"…he never told me anything else about the baby, but I knew it was his son. From time to time, he would ask about the child's progress. Now, it seems that this illegitimate son is the heir to the Septim throne."

"Where do I find Uriel's…the Emperor's son?" _It didn't feel right, to sue the Emperor's real name as Jauffre did. _

"His name is Martin. He serves Akatosh in the Chapel in the city of Kvatch, south of here. You must go to Kvatch and find him at once. If the enemy is aware of his existence, as seems likely, he is in terrible danger. And please, let me know if there's anything you need. My resources here are limited, but I will help in any way I can."

"Martin…" Templar stopped, and sighed. "Why did _I _have to be picked for this job?"

Jauffre smiled. "The Emperor obviously found something special in you. Maybe you should try and find that something in yourself."

Templar frowned half-heartedly. "Enough with the riddles already. Baurus told me that you were the Grandmaster of the Blades. No offence, but, you know."

"Ah, Baurus. I am glad to hear that he survived, but I fear he will take the Emperor's death particularly hard. But, yes, Baurus told you right. I am the Grandmaster of the Blades. Appearances can be deceiving, can't they?" He smiled at Templar's discomfort.

"We are masters of discretion, the Blades. While we may serve the Emperor, we don't do it publicly. Only a select few can do that, at the Elder Council in the Imperial City. And Grandmaster is really just a title that goes to the oldest Blade. Some of the younger ones could easily beat me if it came to a fight. But enough of that. Do you need anything for your journey?"

Templar thought for a moment. "Yes. Some healing potions and some food. And am map would also be good."

Jauffre stood up and walked over to the chest beside his desk. "I have a chest here for when any of the monks here need supplies, or any Blades secretly come and stop by to rest." He took a key from a pocket and unlocked the chest. "Take anything you need, but don't be too greedy. And a map…" He walked over to the bookshelf and rummaged around. "Here. It's a fairly recent map of Cyrodiil, and well-drawn too. It should come in handy." He winked.

Templar took a brief look at the map. _Back to the Imperial City, then south to Skingrad, east along the Gold Road and finally north to Kvatch._

He carefully folded it and tucked it into an empty potion bottle. Then he walked over to the chest, withdrew two healing potions and two traveller's packs of rations.

All of the monks came out to bid him farewell.

"Bye, Jauffre! Thanks for the supplies!"

"Don't worry about it. If what I think is true, a few acts of generosity are the least of our problems."

Brother Maborel called out after him. "Come back soon, Brother Estantesec. We need the company."

Templar felt strangely jubilant at being called a fellow Brother. "I will, Brother Maborel. And Brother Piner and Brother Eronor. I'll see you soon."

He began walking down the road. Jauffre called out one last time. "Find Martin! Bring him here, before anything happens to him!"

"I will." Templar gave a little wave, and then Weynon Priory disappeared into the trees.

----------

_It's all based on conjecture. We don't know anything. It's all guesswork, and sketchy guesswork at that. All we have to go on is a dead Emperor's last words and an old priest's interpretation of them._

Templar spent the night in Skingrad, and repaired his armour at the nearest blacksmith. He set off again just after dawn, making his way through the lush, hilly woodlands of the West Weald that hugged the border with Elswyr.

He emerged from the trees onto the zig-zagging road that led to Kvatch just before midday. Even though he could only see the walls and the tops of the tallest buildings, it was enough. And somehow, the bright daylight didn't make the scene any less menacing.

The hilltop city of Kvatch lay in ruins. He stared at the blazing fires that ravaged the sky. He stared at the blackened, gutted remains of the watchtowers that had once stood proudly on the city's great walls. As he watched, he saw the spire of a building crack and slowly topple to the ground with an almighty crash, crushing all that lay in its path. He heard screams.

And he said one word.

"Oh."


	12. Interlude II

_Author's Note: Ooh, how's that for record time! A new update in less than a week? Madness! Basically, it's to make up for the fact that I have exams in a month._

_Anyway, this chapter continues on from the previous Interlude. I hope all this diplomatic stuff and exposition isn't too boring; I've tried to make it interesting, but at least it's mostly out of the way now. Thanks to all readers and reviewers, past, present and future, and hopefully you're enjoying things so far… _

_P.S. Three jokes in this chapter are kindly stolen from Joe Abercrombie, and are made worse by their lack of context. For full effect, you should go and read all his books immediately. The Akaviri language is actually Dothraki (from a George RR Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire), because frankly, I couldn't be bothered making up my own. And I apologise for butchering any Akviri lore you may or may not know; much of what I've written is somewhat accurate, but some of it (specifically, what I mention in the last few paragraphs) has been made up for the purposes of the story. _

Interlude

**Ambassador's Quarters, Ka Po' Ran (the Tiger-Dragon's City), Akavir, First Seed 3 3E433**

The admiral was impatient.

He strode around the room with hands clasped behind his back and head bowed forward, looking for all the world like a deranged puppet. Around and around, back and forth, from the chair to the door to the archway, and then back again. Behind him, strange balloon-shaped vessels hung high in the sky, transporting passengers and goods across the continent. 'Airships,' they were called. Just another one of the strange and slightly ominous things that ruled in the faraway land of Akavir.

Admiral Horza Zakalwe stopped suddenly and wheeled on his companion. "Why are you just _sitting _there?" he cried.

"I'm thinking," came the reply.

Jacob de Zoet was indeed thinking. As the newly-appointed ambassador to the nation of Akavir, he had a lot to think about. What the Elder Council wanted, what the Akaviri people wanted, the bloody strangeness of talking to a dragon, how to actually run a negotiation between two mutually hostile peoples, the fact that he was a thousand kilometres from home and getting further every day. And always, in the back of his mind, the memory of the previous ambassador's body, bloodied, half-eaten and most definitely dead. Being the man's aide had never been an easy job, but at least it had usually stayed away from murder.

"Thinking about what?"

"Everything."

Jacob had always been a man of very few words, and travelling with the admiral for nearly two months had not made him any more eloquent. Though Admiral Horza Zakalwe was competent and impressively moral , tact and patience were not his strong points.

"Anyway, we can't do much until Thalia gets back," Jacob added. _And here's a tip: jogging, swimming, or just about ANYTHING else would be more effective exercise than pacing back and forth in this tiny little room for hours on end. HOURS. ON. END._

"Where is Thalia, anyway?"

"How should I know? It took us six weeks to get here, so I doubt another half a day waiting will make much difference."

"In war, seconds can mean the difference between life and death." The admiral bristled.

"I know. But we're not at war."

"Yet," Zakalwe said dismissively.

"If I do my job right, we won't ever be at war." _Or, more accurately, if I manage to bluff my way through my sadly-deceased superior's job, we might not be at war for at least three months._

The admiral began pacing again. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Jacob sighed. "Okay. Well, I'm going keep on thinking, so…"

The admiral grunted. "I'll go and look for Thalia. It shouldn't be taking _this_ long to organise a simple meeting. And _stay with the guards;_ I don't want to come back and find you dead."

_Neither do I, admiral. Neither do I._

The admiral strode out; Jacob gave him a half-hearted wave, and looked down at the huge array of books and scrolls that were scattered all over his desk. Light reading material, to help out with the negotiations.

He spotted an abandoned sandwich lying amongst the parchment and took a bite. Images sprang unbidden into his mind.

_The ambassador, lying on his back in a pool of his own blood, slowly spreading across the wood of the deck. His body was contorted into an impossible shape, arms splayed, one leg bent backwards with shattered bone piercing the skin. Eyes wide open in shock, mouth held in mid-scream. And the high-pitched whistling wind as air was sucked through the jagged hole in the airship's side, all splintered timbers and twisted metal. Papers fluttered every which way, sucked out and falling to the water far below in a crumpled white cloud. _

He felt his gorge rise but forced the food down anyway.

_Could be a long day. _

* * *

The sun was shining. And brightly, too – it glinted off the snow with stabbing intensity. As she watched, rivulets of water trickled down the cobbles, dripping off rooves and flowing from the mountains all around.

Akavir's capital wasn't the largest city Thalia had ever seen, but it was certainly one of the most spectacular. Situated high in a mountain range, lying in the embrace of a deep crater, Ka Po' Tun was a picturesque collection of dense gardens and buildings all designed in the classic Akaviri style. The houses of lacquered paper and dark wood were capped with pointed, blue ceramic tiles, and jostled with hanging plants, twisting stone sculptures and curved, wooden towers. The whole city was divided into sections by wide, rushing rivers, fuelled by the spring's snowmelt.

"You look especially radiant today, Thalia."

She sighed, as if that was unexpected. "Facts are facts. Stating them only proves that you're not blind." Yawned, and stretched in her saddle. "But I'll hear more."

The admiral noisily cleared his throat, and held up a hand. "Your hair is like a – like a curtain of midnight! A veil of shimmering sable!"

"Nothing but bad poetry."

"Damn." He squinted up at the clouds. "Your eyes, then, gleam like piercing sapphires, the prettiest in the land."

"I've got stones in my face now?"

Horza… shuddered. _Like he was holding something in_. "Am I imagining things, or does this get harder every day?" he said brightly.

"Well, it's not my fault that you're terrible at compliments."

"I suppose that's true. It's not my fault that you're the definition of vanity, either."

"Harsh." She gave her hair an exaggerated shake.

Their party rode through the streets of the city – herself, the admiral Jacob, and three Imperial bodyguards, accompanied by a dozen of the local Ka Po' guards. The Ka Po' looked like slightly more primal Khajiit, taller, broader, more... fierce; their furred bodies were encased in bulbous, almost insectoid steel armour, and they carried tall spears held up ramrod-straight.

Thalia was faintly amused to find that they still used horses in Akavir. _After all the weirdness so far, it feels strangely mundane_. The fact that the 'horses' had six legs instead of four was, of course, a different matter altogether – but the two extra limbs didn't seem to make much difference, and the beasts sure behaved like the horses she knew from home.

They turned a corner, onto a long, straight avenue that led all the way to Tosh Raka's Palace, an immense stone structure that brooded over the rest of the city from its mountaintop perch high above. Thalia gave her horse a little nudge, as their Akaviri escort began to trot at a faster pace.

"Where's Jerk-ob?" the admiral asked suddenly.

Thalia decided to ignore the mispronunciation. "Coming up behind."

"Is he ready for whatever the Akaviri are going to throw at us?"

"Hopefully."

"I didn't travel three thousand miles for 'hopefully,'" Horza grumbled.

"Give him some credit. His boss got brutally murdered, no one knows how it happened, and now he has the bear the responsibility of being Tamriel's ambassador." _I'd have probably run home screaming for my mother by now._

"Couldn't we have chosen someone else?"

"Who? It's not like you or I could take over. Well, perhaps you could, but then we'd have already been taken prisoner for being crotchety and disrespectful."

"Harsh."

"You deserved it," Thalia said primly. "Really, we should have turned back for Cyrodiil, but those weren't the orders, and _apparently _the mission was too urgent, so…"

"We're stuck with Jack-o-Lantern."

"It's, uh – it's Jacob, sir."

"I know his name. I choose to mispronounce it because it amuses me," the admiral replied. He wasn't smiling.

Thalia frowned. _Despite my best efforts,_ "You're looking especially bitter today, admiral."

"Yep."

"Any reason?"

"Yes. Unfortunately." The admiral didn't elaborate.

Thalia decided to let it go. There were more important things to worry about.

Each side of the road was lined with trees – not the pines you might expect in Bruma or some other mountain town, but large, trailing ferns, with dense leaves that twirled every which way in a tangled green wall.

And, of course, there were the heads. Every ten metres, there was another pike stuck into the ground, with another head mounted on top of it. Rotting, bloody snakeheads, liberated from the bodies of the subjugated Tsaesci people. They lined the centre of the causeway right down the middle, a constant reminder of the brutality that bubbled beneath Akavir's surface. It wasn't very apparent here, in the very heart of the realm, but some of the places they'd stopped at on their journey here... well, looting and burning and the occasional battle were the least of people's worries.

Thalia tried to listen in on what their tigerish guards were saying, but her Tamriel-learnt grasp of the Akaviri language wasn't quite good enough to understand their particular dialect. Ah, well, there'd be plenty of time to justify her presence on this trip later on. Later today, in fact. She tried to repress the slight hint of nervousness at the bottom of her stomach.

_ But for now at least, just sit back and enjoy the ride._

* * *

_Click, click, click. That infernal sound of too-loud footsteps, once again signalling our presence in the hall of the dragon-king._

The air was cold, though that shouldn't have been a surprise, since they were on top of a freaking mountain.

The hall was dark, and rather large – though that shouldn't have been a surprise, since many stone halls were dark and large. _Though this one is _particularly_ large._

The impossibly perfect square pillars still held up the roof. Everything was still lit with an unearthly, blue glow. The rows of Tsaesci skeletons still stood in their horrible, bone-white rows. Jacob thought that there might have been a few more than their last visit two days earlier, and that the still-living Tsaesci guards might have been slightly fewer in number. He idly wondered what Tosh Raka would do when the guards ran out. _Fly into the wilderness and round up another bunch? Come to think of it, he's probably run into that situation already, since he IS immortal._

His feet clicked along the black marble floor, Admiral Horza and Thalia two steps behind, staring straight ahead as always.

Regrettably, something was still sprawled atop the dais at the hall's far end.

_Tosh Raka, the Tiger-Dragon Emperor. Legend has it, he's the first and only of the Ka Po' species to morph into a dragon, and is thus treated as a god. Legend has it, his aim in life is to destroy all Tsaesci – which he seems to be doing a good job of, by the way – and then invade Tamriel. Fun times ahead for all._

_ Distract yourself with humour. That's the spirit. In fact, why not-_

"Ambassador. How pleasant to see... you and your friends again."

_Shit, he's seen us. Run!_

Flesh slithered upon Tosh Raka's throne as the dragon hauled itself upright. "It is good to see you again as well, mighty Emperor." Jacob heard himself speak, impressively calmly. "Thank you for granting us another audience." He was still fifty metres from the dais, and decided to stop there, not wanting to get too-

"Come closer."

_Dammit._ Jacob kept walking, for another thirty interminable paces.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," the dragon continued. "After all, we are all... what do you call it?... friends..."

Twenty metres of neck uncurled from between the spikes that lined the throne's base. Wings rustled. The last echoes of footsteps faded from hearing.

_By the gods, why does it have to be so _dramatic_ whenever I come in here?_ Jacob decided to wait for the Emperor to speak, since they were technically his guests.

"Previously..." Tosh Raka said eventually, "We discussed an... alliance."

"Yes. An agreement which would be of mutual benefit to both our lands." _Make it sound like we're giving them something. Let them take the initiative, but try to influence the path of negotiation. _The ambassador's words echoed in Jacob's mind, but seemed rather inadequate.

"This agreement would cover trade and... the sharing of information. The intermingling of meat. A military cooperation."

"Yes. The finer terms would have to be discussed at more length, perhaps with your advisors-" _if you have any _"-but that's the... that's the general... idea," he finished lamely.

Tosh Raka's voice was a curious cross between a tiger and a snake, a loud, rasping hiss that contained an unavoidable air of menace. "That is... the idea. Tell me, then, Jacob de Zoet... Why do you come to us with this... agreement. This alliance... The histories of our peoples do not suggest a... peaceful coexistence."

_You got that right. Thank god there's a gigantic ocean in the middle. _"I – Tamriel's leaders believe that a history of violence is not necessarily representative of a violent future. We can put aside past differences. Forgive, forget and prosper, as my people say."

"Forgetting is... difficult, for one that lives forever, as I..."

"Not forgetting, then. But the past still doesn't have to inform the future. War doesn't benefit anybody."

"Ah, war... a curious animal," Tosh Raka said slowly. "Almost nothing is its equal for... inspiring people."

_Almost nothing is its equal in causing death and misery._

"Aside from pestilence and... disease... and starvation," came the reply. "Death and misery are everywhere, war... or no war."

_Peace or no peace. What?_

"Peace or... no peace." The Emperor gave a short, cruel laugh, a 'ha!' that echoed from the vaulted walls. "Surprised, Ambassador? After... all, I am a... God. The thoughts of insects are hardly... worth knowing, but I can read them if I must."

_Uh-oh. Surprise! Not good! Looks like we need a different – not thinking! Not thinking! _"Still, surely you have to see that the benefits of peace do outweigh those of conflict."

"Yes, they do..."

Jacob did a double take. _Well, that was easy. _"Then do we have a – a tentative agreement for further discussion, at-"

"Ambassador Zoet," Tosh Raka interrupted, ignoring him. One scaled forearm traced idle patterns on the floor. "I will... assume that you, and your... leaders... are not fools. I will assume that you have heard whispers of... movement. Of armies... Of invasion. Whispers..."

"Rumours, certainly, but our motives-"

"I will assume that is why you are here."

Jacob could only say "...Yes." _Just go with the flow, since anything you do seems unable to change it at this point._

"Do you know... _why_ I have vowed to exterminate your race?"

"No."

"It is because you use... magic," Tosh Raka said.

_What?_

"Magic? Could you –uh – explain that a bit more?"

"Magic is unclean. Magic is a tool of the gods who… oppress us. It is a way to circumvent the world's natural… order."

"Magic also has its benefits," Jacob said slowly.

"Magic is something for nothing. Your people worship it, value it, value an ethereal presence that can barely be… controlled. This… state of affairs offends us."

"We use magic because it helps us – we – some of our people are trained to control it." He frowned. "Magic is very common in Tamriel. Do you not use it here?"  
Words punched from Tosh Raka's mouth. "NO. It is distasteful. Magic is something that cannot be understood. Your… symbiotic relationship threatens… the balance of life. Threatens you. Threatens… us. Threatens… the significance of life."

"And why do the Akaviri believe that? Do you have evidence? For us, magic is just another tool to be tamed."

The Emperor was silent for a moment, tail swishing back and forth. "…Evidence? Perhaps… But you do not 'tame' magic. You use it, but you do not know the truth behind it. Technology, on the other… hand. Technology is… progress. Is _us_… The flow of steam, the taming of lightning, the blasts of… fire…"

The dragon paused again. Slitted eyes stared right into Jacob's heart.

"But no matter. We will... talk, Ambassador Zoet," it hissed. "We... will talk. One of my lieutenants will discuss your so-called agreement."

He breathed out. "Thank you, gracious Emperor."

"I am indeed... gracious. But, Ambassador, we will have to discuss some new... terms. And if I do not like what I hear, you will leave Akavir... soon enough. Soon enough..."

* * *

The door slammed shut with a bang like a headsman's axe. Horza hurried over to the crackling fireplace and held his hands out over the flames, glad to be out of the cold. It was snowing outside, the whole city gradually sinking into featureless white.

Their quarters in the Akaviri capital could be best described as plain; not exactly what you'd expect for Tosh Raka's 'honoured guests'. The outside walls were made of stone, the interior divided into rooms by traditional paper walls and wooden sliding doors, while the triangular roof was covered in grey-green tiles.

Jacob and Thalia were talking in the other room, voices clearly audible through the thin paper partitions.

"That hall that Tosh Raka lives in?" Jacob was saying. "It's huge, but it's so weirdly _minimalist _that it's – geometrically off-putting."

Thalia chuckled. "'Geometrically off-putting'? What does that even _mean_?"

Horza ignored them and took off his coat, wincing at the ever-present aches in his back, sighing at the thought of home. A sigh, with a tinge on anger. But it was no time to be distracted; if forty years of naval service had taught him anything, it was that personal issues and work had to be kept separate.

_Personal 'issues'. How could I make it sound any more pathetic._

He glanced out the window, at the whitewashed world. Hard to believe it had been bright and sunny just an hour or two earlier. Akaviri citizens trudged through the snow, shoulders hunched; others rode in odd, steam-powered carts that belched hot smoke. Some huddled under light-emitting orbs that were arranged on poles up and down the street.

Hard to believe they were gearing up for war.

But in the admiral's experience, and he'd had plenty, the military was made from ninety-nine parts boredom, often sitting at a desk, sometimes out in the cold and damp, hauling a great weight of metal uphill, and one part arse-opening terror. It made him wonder yet again why he'd got into the business, and why the hell he still hadn't got out of it. Well, until a week ago. _Talent for it, or perhaps a lack of talent for anything else. _

At any rate, there were things to do, so he sauntered down the hallway, ducking under a lintel, and pulled open the door to the meeting room.

Thalia and Jacob were sitting on chairs around the large central table, surrounded by the calligraphic scrolls that hung from the walls. They had lapsed into silence, but looked up as Horza entered.

"Hello, admiral. Nice weather?"

"Very," he answered gruffly, pulling up a seat and collapsing into it with a dissatisfied sigh.

"Was… there a problem?" Thalia asked cautiously.

"Nope. One of Raka's lieutenants is on his way to meet us."

"Right now? Here?"

"Yep. Should be here any moment. I would've run back and warned you earlier, but, well, I don't think my bones would allow it." He coughed, and noticed that the ambassador's clerk was staring at him. _Well, the ambassador now. _"What?" he snapped, more harshly than he intended.

"I'm – sorry to hear about your brother," Jacob said cautiously.

"My… brother."

_My brother the traitor._

_He opened the letter, disbelieving. Hands trembling. A dream. Anger. Sadness. A flood._

'_To Admiral Horza Zakalwe: Many events have transpired in your absence, some of them unfortunate. Chief among them is that your brother, Tanner Zakalwe, has been found a traitor to the realm and an Akaviri spy by the Elder Council, and was tried and executed on the 27__th__ day of Sun's Dawn, 3E433. He conspired to assassinate the heir to the realm, Prince Geldall Septim, and…'_

_The Elder Council. Squashing his dreams as carelessly as a boy might squash an ant. No longer commander of the Seventh fleet. No longer an admiral, first class. No longer anything but a joke, a synonym for failure and disgrace. _

'_To Admiral Horza Zakalwe: Ambassador Eddard's death has been noted. Unfortunately, considering your current position and uncertainties of your loyalty, the Council has decided to strip you of your rank, and have granted you a dishonourable discharge from military service. This decision was not taken lightly. Your exemplary record was noted, but our actions must be harsh, to discourage any further hints of disloyalty to the crown… '_

_Three letters, transported to Akavir at great wizardly expense. I wonder what they say in the streets. Do they talk about the traitor in hushed tones? Does forty years of service mean nothing? Do my family have to hide their faces in a crowd? _

'_To Horza Zakalwe: our judgements may seem unjust to you, as you are currently unable to defend yourself from accusation. Upon your return, you will be subject to questioning to determine your innocence or guilt. However, as you are currently outside the realm, you will continue to accompany the ambassadorial party as an observer, and an observer only…'_

'_Unjust.' It was more than unjust. It was… unreal. A dream. Anger. Sadness. How could - just like that. A life changed with a hands-width of parchment._

_But he'd kept everything to himself. Behaved as normal. Tried to ignore the letters and their contents, until-_

He blinked.

"My brother was not a spy. _Not_ a traitor." His voice cracked. "_I_ am not…"

_I am still an admiral. I am still a good man, until they prove it otherwise. I will retire with a commission, and live out the rest of my days happily married in the hills of Morrowind._

_But Tanner's dead. For some stupid reason, because of some ridiculous fucking falsehood, he's dead. There was no way that he could have-_

_Ignore it. Do your fucking duty. _

Somewhere behind them, a door slammed, with a bang like a headsman's axe.

* * *

A door slammed, making Thalia jump. One of their Imperial bodyguards poked his head around the corner, his face an anchor of familiarity. "Ambassador, admiral. Thalia." He nodded. "The Akaviri lieutenant is here. Should I send him in?"

"…Yes," Jacob said eventually. "Send him in."

The admiral was staring off into the distance, sitting stiffly in his chair. Thalia didn't know exactly what had happened to the him, or his brother; Horza's face was that same grim mask it always was. But as far as she was concerned, he was still Tamriel's official military representative in the negotiations, and still a firm friend. Still someone to rely on for help or a smile. _Though smiles have been thin on the ground lately. Whatever __they told him, holding all that in… I can't imagine. So far away, with nothing you can do._

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Footsteps, in the hall outside. Thalia got to her feet, gathered her thoughts, saw the other two do the same. The door slid open with a soft crackle, revealing-

The Ka Po' lieutenant was tall and broad, muscles rippling under fine orange fur, and cut an imposing figure in his ceremonial dress: a thick black robe, embroidered in blue and gold. He padded forth on white-tipped feet, and bowed low, whiskers twitching.

Thalia bowed in return, as did the others.

The tiger had deep golden eyes, and his voice was a soft growl. He said something in Akaviri, a formal greeting.

_Time to make myself useful, then. _"Greetings to all," Thalia translated. "I would engage in small talk, but there is much to discuss, and the land grows cold."

"That it does. Thank you for meeting us here," Jacob said. "Please, sit."

Thalia felt her lips curl around the guttural Ka Po' language. Words flew back and forth behind her eyes. "Achrakh. Yeroon zireyesee hrazef anni… Zhey, ifak."

The Ka Po' nodded, and sat with a swish of robes, paws clasped in front of him. Thalia noticed that two Akaviri guards were standing just outside the room, shadows visible through the paper walls. She _also_ noticed that Jacob smiled slightly as looked down at his notes, and she knew exactly why.

_So, tiger, let's play a game. _

_Opening gambit: _"First, should we discuss trade?" ("Fichi jin hlak kherikhi?")

The Ka Po' thought for a moment, then shook his head again. _As expected. _"Mori nroji ma nizhi me azho. Mallorea anni shafkea." ("There is a more important matter at hand. The Mallorean islands.")

"As you wish," Jacob said graciously. ("Havazh idrik.")

_Black's move._

"Hash anha laz adothrak shafki - fonakasar, hash ashilok khal shafki Akavir." ("Your military presence there could be seen as – antagonistic. The islands belong to Akavir.")

"But the islands lie in the very middle of the Emerald Ocean. It is hard to say who they belong to – arguably, your recent construction of an outpost there could be seen as antagonistic to us." ("Athchomar chomakea, zhey lajaki vezhveni. Anha goshok mehrazef shafki athiroe; me haja lekhaan k'athtihari.")

As the conversation continued, Thalia found herself getting more and more comfortable with the language, needing less effort to translate it. _Looks like all those wasted years at the historian's guild weren't so wasted after all._

"This is true," the Akaviri was saying. "But the islands have always had special significance to our people."_ Pawn to D4._

"That's hard to prove," Jacob replied skeptically. _Pawn to D6. _"They're basically rocks in the middle of nowhere."

_Knight to E6. _"Do not question our traditions. Besides, what claim do _you_ have to the islands, other than a rotted flag a thousand years old? The increase of your military strength on the islands is still the most important point of discussion."

Horza spoke, for the first time. "Our military armament has always been in reaction to yours."

"Then we have a stalemate. I could say the same," the Ka Po' answered.

Jacob leaned forwards. _Free up the board_. "Ignoring armies for a moment, the reason that the islands are important is that they are the largest landmass for 500 miles to either side. They're a stopping point, a sanctuary."

_Ooh, what's the word for 'sanctuary'? Hm, I suppose 'refuge' would do_. ("Me vil kaffe rek tokikes, yer ofrakhi vosecchi sajoes mae. Khalakka dothrae mr'anha, me oge oqet oskikh.")

"This is true."

_A bishop, captured._ "And importantly, they could be used for trade. An island chain, directly between our two nations, could be an incredibly lucrative trading post. It could become a point of… cultural exchange."

_A piece is threatened. _"_If_ the Mallorean islands were used as a trading post. _If_. There is still the original matter of the naval bases."

_Castling. _"If the islands could be used for trade, then our navies would be needed anyway, to keep order."

"All this discussion of trade, when we have not agreed to anything," the Akaviri said, teeth bared in a humourless smile. _Blocked with a pawn._

"But the two matters are linked." _Queen to A3._

_Bishop to G3. _"Yes, they are linked, and I cannot deny the benefits of trade. But there is the cloud of war to consider. Withdraw from the islands, and we may-"

"I could equally ask you to withdraw," Horza interrupted flatly._ A classic defence._

Their plan, such as it was, seemed to be working. Or, more accurately, Jacob's plan. The 'game' wasn't exactly being played well by either side, but at least they were steering the talk away from Tosh Raka's obsession with magic, invasion and dramatic pauses. _Perhaps the Akaviri people don't all enjoy being ruled by an immortal dragon. _

_Ah, but I spoke too soon._

"You could. But Tosh Raka, our mighty leader, is willing to put aside his extermination of your people and entertain thoughts of 'peace'… if and only if you abandon your gods, and abandon your magic. This has been stated to you, and the dragon's will shall not be shaken."

"Why?" Jacob asked. _Lure them in._

"Because your gods are false, symbols of control. Because your magic is unnatural. Because one day, Tosh Raka has said that magic will destroy the world."_ Rook to C7._

_Check. _"But magic is part of the very fabric of existence, much more than Tosh Raka's so-called 'technology'. Magic is everywhere, in the trees, and in the sky, and within us. And I would argue Tosh Raka is more of a false god than my own."

_One last move. _"I will choose to treat those words as ignorance, rather than blasphemy," the Ka Po' said, with a hint of menace.

_Check... _"They are only what I – and my millions of countrymen – believe. Remember, Akavir is not the only land upon this earth. Think upon our offers of trade, and peace. Talk amongst yourselves. War does not benefit anyone. It doesn't benefit Tamriel, it doesn't benefit Tosh Raka, it doesn't benefit you. It doesn't benefit magic, or technology, or anything else. All this talk of invasion, and threats, but war… war never changes." _…mate!_

_Well, not really checkmate, but anything to sow the first seeds of doubt. Hopefully we didn't go _too_ overboard; don't want to start a war, after all. Haha. _

The ambassador stared at them for a moment, with unreadable eyes. Then he stood, and gave the slightest bow.

"Gzarhck o-ikra," he said. "Rakharo jhiqui alakhra." _Thank you for time. Perhaps we will talk again. _

"…Gzarhck na-ikran." _Or perhaps not._

He turned and left, padded feet silent on the wooden floor. Outside, the snow was getting thicker, flurries swirling through the air and piling up the gutters.

* * *

Jacob watched the world pass by. A world that followed the same rules as his own, but was somehow... different.

Two Ka Po' met in the street; they bowed to each other formally, exchanging pleasantries. A mottled Tsaesci serpent-woman skulked in the shadows, her people repressed and despised because of an Emperor's whim. Instead of forks and spoons, people ate with wooden sticks - which you'd think would be difficult, but the Akaviri could devour a meal as fast as anyone.

The people were thoughtful, ruthless, both fiercely loyal and intensely divided. The land was an unknown darkness of forests and and seas and six-legged horses. This city was a paper-ceramic wonder ruled by a genocidal reptile. But...

...whatever their customs, the people ate, drank, lived, and died. Potted plants hung from rooves, trailed their leaves onto cobbled roads. Merchants plied their trade from streetside stalls. Someone was repairing a roof, the sound of their hammer echoing from the mountainsides. Grass grew, rivers flowed, the sun rose and set.

A cart chugged down the street, powered by nothing but hot coals and water. It rattled and shook, wheels churning in the snow as steam belched from its back, pistons and belts pumping up and down. There were apparently very few of these so-called 'steam engines,' and this one was surrounded by a group of anxiously chittering monkeys. _No, that's rude. _Surrounded by a group of anxiously chittering Kamal people, from the Southern Isles, scholars overseeing a new experiment.

_But they look like monkeys to me._

The cart seemed woefully inefficient, compared to a horse, but Jacob supposed that there had to be some advantage to it. _Like there must be some advantage to those glass globes than create light from nothing. Or those strange long weapons they call 'guns'._

___Tosh Raka may not approve of our magic, but it seems like he has some magic of his own._


	13. The Invasion Begins

_Author's Note: Okay, I officially conclude Part I of Till the End of Time and officially being Part II. It's the eleventh chapter, Templar has a purpose, and he's finally (although reluctantly) developing into something you could call a hero._

_But before we start, there are some acknowledgements to make. First of all, I thank all the wonderful fantasy authors that have influenced my writing (David Eddings, David Gemmell and Terry Pratchett to name a few) and filled so many hours of my life. Thanks to all my reviewers, and especially the faithful T-Blood, for dutifully reviewing almost every single chapter. Your reviews are probably the greatest encouragement you could give to an author. And finally I thank Bethesda, for making such a wonderful world to write about._

_And now, with that out of the way, thus concludes Part I: An Emperor's Fall and thus begins Part II: The Invasion Begins._

The Invasion Begins

_**The Gold Road, Mount Kvatch, The Colovian Highlands, Last Seed 29 3E433**_

_Oh, no. Don't tell me I was too late._

Templar began walking up the road. Then he started jogging. Then he began to run.

The cobbles drummed past beneath his feet. The leafy green trees and chirping birds at the bottom of the hill were an eerie contrast with the burning city at the top.

_If Martin's dead, then all of this would have been for nothing. If I hadn't gone to the Imperial City, maybe I would've been here before the attack-_

_Attack from what, exactly? Ghostly armies? Fire-breathing demons? Merhunes Dagon himself?_

_Maybe there are people still alive. Maybe Martin's hiding somewhere. Maybe the city guards are still trying to fight off the attack-_

He was so intent on running that he almost didn't see the thing that was running towards him.

He looked up, and saw a tall, yellow-skinned elf sprinting down the path in front of him.

"Hey! Wait!" Templar called out. "Stop! What happened!"

The elf tried to skid to a stop, and only just managed to slow himself down before cannoning into Templar's chest. He grunted, and hauled the shivering elf upright. Pure terror was plastered across the elf's face. Sweat ran down his cheeks in tiny rivulets. Templar suddenly noticed that there was a ramshackle camp up ahead.

"Come on! Run while there's still time! The Guard still holds the road, but it's only a matter of time before they're overwhelmed!" The elf's voice was panicky. His eyes flicked left and right, as if expecting something to attack.

"Wait, slow down. Run from what?"

The elf stared at him. "God's blood. You don't know, do you?"

"Know _what?_"

"Daedra overran Kvatch last night! There were glowing portals outside the walls! Gates to Oblivion itself!"

_Damn. It looks like Jauffre was right after all._

The elf took a deep breath before continuing. "There was a huge creature…some – something out of a nightmare…came right over the walls, blasting fire. They swarmed around it… killing…" His voice trailed off.

"The whole city can't be destroyed, can it?" Templar asked in desperation, not really wanting an answer. _Just a few of those gates wiped out a whole city…_

"Go and see for yourself!" He up at the burning city. "Kvatch is a smoking ruin! We're all that's left, do you understand me? Everyone else is dead!" The elf's voice rose into hysteria.

"Calm down! There must be some still alive in there. Maybe. Somewhere. But how did you escape?"

The elf appeared to calm down, at least a little. "It was Savlian Matius…some of the other guards…helped some of us escape… They cut their way out, right through the city gates…"

"The Kvatch Guards?" Templar asked softly. "Were they the ones that helped?"

"Savlian says they can hold the road. No… No, I don't believe him. Nothing can stop them." The elf was nearly sobbing. "If you'd seen it, you'd know. I'm getting out of here before it's too late! They'll be here any minute. I'm telling you, run while you can!" The elf suddenly darted aside and began careening down the path.

Templar made one desperate lunge after him, but then let him run. _If it makes him feel better. Then again, maybe _he's _the smart one. At least he's safe._

_Oblivion gates. The secret heir to the Septim throne. How the hell did I get involved in all of this?It makes me feel like a tall man in a china shop, really. One wrong move and everything could go very, very wrong._

_Or maybe it already has._

Templar entered the refugee camp, and it didn't do much to life his spirits. It was a motley collection of tents, bedrolls and hastily-packed sacks of possessions. The inhabitants all wore expressions of hopelessness and despair.

_Maybe if I can find Savlian Matius or whatever, he might know where Martin is. It's as good a try as any._

He called out to the nearest passer-by, a dark-skinned Redguard with a haunted look in his eyes.

"Do you know where Martin is? The priest?"

"I don't think he made it out of the city," the Redguard replied slowly. "Very few of us did."

"Damn," Templar muttered.

"When the daedra came, we didn't really have time to look around. When they set fire to the city, everyone just ran for their lives. Although," he continued, "Savlian Matius might know more. He would've seen everyone that managed to get out. I think he's at the barricade at the top of the road. He's still trying to hold what's left of the Guard together, but they take losses every time the demons come."

"Thanks," Templar answered gratefully. "You have no idea how important that is."

"I hope you find him. He was a good man."

As Templar walked through the camp, he heard snippets of conversation that did nothing to improve his mood.

_"I'm angry. That anger is what keeps me going."_

_"After that thing set fire to the city, I don't remember much except the burning…"_

_"Do you know all I managed to save? A bit of gold and the clothes on my back. Not even my grandfather's diaries, and I've kept them safe for twenty years."_

_"Hope is gone. The Imperial line is dead."_

What?

An elderly priest was standing on a boulder in the centre of the camp, preaching to anyone who would listen.

"The Covenant is broken. The Enemy has won." _That sounds eerily like the truth, _Templar thought curiously.

"What Covenant?" someone piped up.

The priest leapt upon the question. "The Imperial line is dead, and the Gods have forsaken us. Where is our blessing? Where is our protection? Where are our Gods? The Enemy triumphs, and we die alone."

"The Emperor isn't dead, you silly old man," someone – an orc – called out. "And there is no 'Enemy.' Only daedra."

"Lord Dagon is the enemy. He is the Prince of Destruction, and the daedra are his servants," the priest said despairingly. "The Chapel is cast down, and the faithful…my friends…all dead."

_All dead. He was a priest. That could mean Martin. _

"I've heard enough. Silly old riddles won't help us now," the orc said disgustedly. "The Enemy has won, and we are destroyed!" the priest called after his retreating back.

Templar kept walking, and wondered how a little old priest could possibly know about the Emperor's death. _Maybe Imperial Legion messengers have reached the city by now. They could have easily overtaken me while I slept. But wouldn't that mean that the Legion would be here by now? Or maybe there's something real in visions after all._

He exited the camp, and kept ascending up the hill. After he'd traversed the mountainside a few more times, he noticed that a red glow was bathing the stones of the road beneath his feet.

He looked up.

The sky had turned red.

_Red with blood. Fits nicely with the theme of invasion, doesn't it?_

Lightning bolts crackled across the sky, with occasional patches of midnight black pulsing through the red. Little points of white light which could have been stars were speckled across the heavens. A thick white mist flowed swiftly through the air far above him. The trees around him were now black and dead, with spiky, leafless branches clawing at the sky. It was also curiously warm, as if the red sky was a giant furnace in which the world was being baked.

_Well then. It won't go away if you ignore it, so you'd better get used to it. Of COURSE Oblivion would have to have its own type of scary demonic sky._

_And it's _awfully_ stereotypical of them to make it hot, too._

Templar gave up on attempting to cheer himself up, looked up, and saw it was only another few hundred metres to the top of the hill. He wearily walked onwards, keeping his eyes open for any sight of human life, and Savlian Matius' supposed last stand.

Soon, he could hear them. The clang of steel and the shouts of fighting soon reached his ears from the road up ahead. He could see crude barricades of sharpened logs lashed together lining the road.

He saw the guards, weapons raised, ready for another assault.

And then he saw the Oblivion Gate. It fully justified the capital G.

It was a tall oval, around ten metres tall and three wide. Yellow whips of energy lashed wildly around the edges, and the Gate itself was made of worn black stone, streaked with orange lines that looked as if lava itself was encased inside the rock. The portal was a shimmering, half-transparent red-and-white opening, through which Templar could faintly see…well..._something. _Huge curved spikes jutted from the ground, which was cracked and rumpled like an earthquake epicentre. Heat-haze obscured the area around it, flickering wildly. Puffs of red light swirled around it in sinuous, snake-like patterns.

_Keeping with the theme of spikes and flames, I see._

He started walking towards the guards, who were standing behind a quickly-constructed barricade made of sharpened stakes. There were only seven of them, and they were standing around a bald man that Templar assumed was Savlian Matius.

He was about to call out when he saw a group of creatures leap out of the Gate, which rippled like a pond as their fiery outlines materialised into flesh and bone, and begin attacking the assembled guards.

He ran forwards leapt into the fray.

----------

_There were two which looked a bit like miniature goblins, except that they had green, scaly skin and seemed to be able to shoot fireballs. But the other one was new. It looked a bit like those old fossils some people dug up around Tamriel, Triceratopses or something, you know, with the frills and three horns, except that this one was smaller and walked on two legs, and was actually alive and it was actually running towards him right now-_

Templar stepped aside as the little creature sailed past him, claws outstretched. He winced as a claw raked across his upper armguards, turned, and chopped his sword through the back of its neck.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around, sword drawn-

And stopped as he realised it was one of the Kvatch guards.

"The Captain would like to see you."

"Oh. Right." He realised it must've been a bit of a surprise for someone to come running in and chop the head off a small triceratops-demon.

"He's not angry; he's quite happy, actually. We could do with a bit of help."

"Oh. I'll go and see him, then."

_Stupid you. They'll probably want you to go in and clear out the city or something. I swear it's the steel armour. Too goddamn impressive._

He looked around. One guard was tending to the bleeding arm of another, slowly bandaging it up. He realised that most of the guards were wounded in one way or another. One sat on the back of a barricade, sharpening his sword. Another was silently staring out over the forest far below.

Savlian Matius was talking to two of his guards under a tree.

"I'm going to have to send you to get help. I though the Imperial Legion would have seen the fires and come by now, but-"

"If we go, you won't hold the road," the guard protested. "With seven, we're almost overwhelmed. Each one of us gets a new wound every time those damn things come. With _five_, you won't-"

Matius held up a hand. "No. You have to go. And tell the people to be ready to run. Anvil's not that far away; if only we can get some help-" He paused. "Ah, and here's our mysterious benefactor. Nice of you to come."

"No problem. Although, no offence, I would prefer not to be here given the circumstances."

"So would we all." The two guards behind him nodded their heads emphatically.

"Sorry to ask," Templar began, " but what happened? I know that the daedra came, but other than that, the details down at the camp are a bit sketchy…"

Matius' voice quivered with suppressed anger. "We lost the damned city, that's what happened! It was too much, too fast. We were overwhelmed. Couldn't even get everyone out. There are still people trapped in there."

"Are any still alive?"

"Some made it into the Chapel-

_Martin ran through the streets, calling everyone he could. He flung open the door to one house that was already aflame . A woman and her child rushed out, sobbing with relief. "Anyone! Come to the Chapel! We are forming a barricade!" A woman, one of the city guards, was doing the same on the opposite side of the street._

_Soon, they emerged into the central square of the city, just in front of the Chapel. They had a sizeable number around twenty or thirty, but so many more had been killed before anything could be done. They began ushering people into the Chapel._

_"Come on! The demons know we are here! Everyone into the Chapel!"_

_Once everyone was in, the empty space seemed to glare at him. There were usually a hundred or so people inside the Chapel on the day of prayer, but now there were only thirty. _Thirty._ He only hoped some had made it out._

_He was about to close the great wooden doors when he saw one last man running across the square._

_"Wait! Don't close them! You have to let me in!" The man shouted desperately. He stumbled on a loose flagstone, but kept running._

_He was about half-way across the square when Martin saw a group of ten demons emerge from a street and start pursuing the lone man._

_"Hurry! They are coming!" he yelled out._

_The female guard came up behind him. "Close the doors! He won't make it. If they get in, we'll all be killed!"_

_"No, I can't! I can't just leave him-"_

_And then the man was inside, sweating freely. They heaved on the mighty doors, pushing them shut. They came together, inch by inch-_

_The daedra were coming._

_Martin and the guard heaved with renewed strength. The citizens began to help them. Slowly, slowly, the gap narrowed._

_Yes! It was about to shut-_

_A scaly claw shot through the tiny gap and raked across Martin's forehead. He stumbled back in a cry of pain. The creature's face began to squeeze through-_

_The second guard fired an arrow straight into the creature's mouth. Hot blood spurted from the wound, and it fell back writhing in pain. _

_The doors slammed shut._

_They hurriedly slotted the locking bar into position and stood back, waiting._

_Something thumped on the door. The echo resounded through the chapel. Heads turned. Someone sneezed._

_Another thump. The door shook a little. Dust sprinkled down from the ceiling._

_Another thump. _

_Through the pain, Martin prayed. No one would be getting any sleep tonight._

-but others were just run down in the streets. The Count and his men are still holed up in the castle. And now we can't even get back into the city to help them, with that damned Oblivion Gate blocking the way!"

"What will you do now?"

"The only thing we can do," Matius replied determinedly. "We'll try to hold our ground, that's what. If we can't hold this barricade, those beasts could march right down and overrun the encampment. I have to try and protect the few civilians that are left, and try and send for help. It's all I can do now." He sighed sadly. "I don't want any more deaths on my watch."

"Wait. The Oblivion Gate is _blocking_ the city?" _How could things get any worse?_

"Yes. It is. We've tried to get over by scaling the walls, but poor Laeger tried that and now he's got a broken leg."

"Where is he now?"

"Dead. The demons got him after he fell."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't' be. We've all had to come to terms with a lot of things in the past few hours." He stopped. "It really annoys me, you know? My home, my goddamn home, in flames. It kills me that I can't get in there and DO something. We couldn't have been any less prepared for the attack. Seems like they came out of nowhere. There were must so many of them… If only we had a way to strike back at the enemy."

"But you can't leave the barricade?" Templar asked half-heartedly.

"Yeah. That's right. At least until the Oblivion Gate is closed." Matius frowned. "They're some kind of portal to Oblivion. The enemy used them to attack the city – they appeared outside the walls and the daedra poured out. _Poured_. You should've seen them. And then they decided to open one right outside the city gates."

"So we're stuck here," Templar concluded. He paused, wondering whether to ask. "But there is something that I have to know. Do you know if Martin is still alive? Did he get out?"

"You mean the priest?" Matius asked. "Last time I saw him, he was leading a group towards the Chapel of Akatosh. If he's lucky, he's trapped in there with the rest of them, at least for the moment. If he's not…"

_Damn. No dice. _"Is there any way I can-" Templar began.

"What?"

"Is there any… way I can help?"

_Idiot! You know what they'll ask you to do, and that only means more hardship. At least you had a CHANCE of surviving before._

"You want to help?" Savlian Matius laughed. He checked himself, and stopped suddenly. "You're kidding, right?"

One look at Templar's expression told him that he wasn't. "Hmm… If you're serious, maybe I can put you to use. It'll likely mean your death, though. Are you sure?"

The inner Templar silently admonished him. _I told you so._

"Yeah," the outer Templar said wearily. "I'm sure."

"I don't know how to-" Savlian stopped abruptly. "I can't help but think I'm sending another good man to his death here, but anyway… I don't know how to close this Gate, but it must be possible, because the enemy closed the ones they opened during the initial attack. You can see the marks on the ground where they were, with the Great Gate right in the middle."

Templar looked at the tortured ground beneath this particular Oblivion Gate. And the spikes. _Yes. I think I could tell._

"I sent men into the Gate," he continued, "to see if they could find a way to shut it. They haven't come back."

"I see."

"If you can get in there, find out what happened to them. If they're alive, help them finish the job. If not, see what you can do on your own." Matius smiled. "It's the steel. I wouldn't ask if you'd turned up in leather."

Templar chuckled weakly. "I know."

"I'm sorry about sending you in there, but it has to be done."

I'll do my best," Templar replied with unfelt willingness.

"The best I can say is, good luck." Savlian reached out a hand and laid it on Templar's shoulder. "If you make it back alive, we'll be waiting for you."

Templar turned towards the gate. It stood there, tall and menacing, as if contemptuously staring down on the puny humans that dared to defy the might of Oblivion.

_Well. The invasion begins, does it?_

He smiled grimly.

_We'll see._

And he stepped through the portal.


	14. Into Oblivion

_Author's Note: It's occurred to me that, in the multiple choice blocks concerning action (not conversation), like the one in this chapter, number one is always the best choice. Since it's the one I write first, I always put the best stuff in it (or not, depending on your opinion), and it's usually more detailed. That said, the block twos stand up pretty well on their own, and there's always some extra details and thoughts that aren't in the first._

_Another thing - I've looked through other novelisations and read their chapters that deal with going into the Kvatch Gate, to see what other authors have done. Most aren't very detailed, but of course I had to do the opposite and include every little thing. My completeness instinct always wins out over the others. And I hope you're satisfied with my descriptions - I took a lot of screenshots getting them right._

_Other than that, as always, I hope you enjoy the chapter._

Into Oblivion

_**The Plane of Oblivion, Last Seed 29 3E433**_

The first thing he noticed was the despair. It was everywhere, an all-encompassing emotion that was searing into his brain. It was all he could do not to throw down his sword and run back through the portal. The utter hopelessness of everything he was trying to do was being brought forward from somewhere dark in his mind.

_What the hell IS this?_

Templar grunted with the effort of thinking clearly. _It must be some kind of goddamn magic to make you turn back-_

He struggled with the feeling, trying not to let himself turn around and step back through the portal that was close, oh so close behind him, that would lend him relief from the cares of the world-

The new Templar, the one that was barely two days old took a stand and pushed the hopelessness to the back of his mind.

_Well, that was a nice introduction, wasn't it?_

Then came the fear. It swirled around him, making his legs tremble, cold sweat running down his back. Templar clutched at the nearest stone.

But eventually that, too, went away and Templar stood up.

_That's right. Damn straight. You can't make me go away with your bloody demon magic. Although, _he conceded_, you've done a pretty good job trying._

He turned.

_And so this is the famed Realm of Oblivion. _

_Just a little freaky, you know. Red sky and spikes and all that._

_Woah._

It must be said that the Realm of Oblivion was not a pleasant place. Aside from unpleasant emotions, it was hot, demon-infested and downright _evil._

Spiky towers leaned over at crazy angles in the distance, connected by spindly bridges. A sea of bubbling hot lava stretched out as far as the eye could see. The ground was parched and cracked, with little red lava-lines winding their way around on the dirt. The only living things in sight were brown, scraggly shrubs that poked up through the cracks, and two scamp daedra that were patrolling a gate in the distance. _Better not disturb them, _Templar though silently.

In front of him was a wide stone pathway that led out over the lava. Giant pillars of stone, inscribed with daedric runes, were lined along each side, while enormous, wickedly-hooked spikes curved their way upwards around it. The end was blocked by a mighty stone gate, which was sealed shut. To his left and right, oddly-angled stone slabs reared up into the sky, leading nowhere but to a drop into the lava sea. They were bordered with large barbed columns that pierced the air. Templar could see a small island in the distance, almost engulfed in red-hot flames. In front of him, stakes were driven into the ground, each mounted with a gruesome human head. A burnt and blackened body lay sprawled on the earth. The only conceivable route was what seemed to be a long, boulder-strewn path that wound its way into the distance to the northwest, at one point almost sinking into the lava. Strangely-formed pillars of stone jutted from the path here and there, and tilted square arches occasionally rose from the molten rock around it. The path itself seemed to follow the curve of the island shore.

Templar had to stop and take it all in. It was too great a change to absorb in one go. Apart from the malevolence, the place had some sort of perverted _majesty_ to it, something he couldn't explain. It was like seeing a great architectural wonder, only to find that it was a house of torture. He felt somehow privileged to be able to see Oblivion in all of its glory (or not), one of the few human eyes to have ever looked down upon the world. It still had a kind of harsh beauty about it, even though he knew what it really was.

Templar realised that this was a _very_ dangerous place. With insidious little fingers it messed with your mind, changing the way you thought, the way you spoke, the way you felt…

Behind him, the Oblivion Gate still pulsed and rippled, and past it was what seemed to be an endless sea of molten rock. Two huge slabs of stone had fallen beside the gate, presumably from an old pillar or arch that had collapsed long ago.

_Why is it always fire? Fire is quite nice, when you think about it. You know, sitting in front of the hearth in winter, huddled around the warmth. Toasting marshmallows. Watching the dance of the flames. _

Then he remembered the burning village.

_But occasionally, it gets into the wrong hands._

Out of the corner of his eye, Templar saw movement. He turned, and saw a _man_ running towards him. An actual _human_. He was wearing what seemed to be a Kvatch Guard cuirass, and was charging at a pair of small goblin-like demons, similar to the ones that had attacked them outside the Gate.

_Well, Matius, it seems I've found one of your lost guardsmen._

As he watched, the man swung his sword at one scampy sort of demon, which flew backwards into the lava from the force. The second one tried to run and flee, but was run down by the guard and took a blow to the neck. His fighting style was ruthlessly efficient, and it made Templar realise how much he still had to learn.

Templar picked his way down the hillside and walked over to the guard, who shouted in surprise and relief.

"Thank the Nine! I never though I'd see another friendly face."

"Me too," Templar replied. "It doesn't seem anything good could live in this place."

"Yes," the guard answered fervently. "Anyway, Ilend Vonius at your service."

"Are you one of the Kvatch guards?"

"Yes. I am. The others… taken. They were taken to the tower," Vonius finished breathlessly.

"What happened?"

"Captain Matius sent us in to try and close the gate. We were ambushed, trapped and picked off. I managed to escape, but the others are strewn across that bridge." He gestured at the bridge to their right, the one sealed off by the gate. "They took Menien off to the big tower. You've got to save him!"

Vonius looked around. He gazed longingly up at the Oblivion Gate. "I've got to get out of here!"

_If you say, "You have to help me close the gate," go to block one._

_If you say, "You have to help Captain Matius defend the barricade, go to block two._

_Note: There is no main story section after block one or two. Once you've read the block, that's it._

----------

1

Templar felt a sudden surge in the background fear of the area. He suppressed it viciously and grabbed hold of Vonius' arm. "Hold it. Stand your ground. Captain Matius said we had to close to Gate if we could. And rescue the others"

"You're right. You're right," Vonius replied, a haggard look in his eyes. "I can't just leave poor Menien to his fate. If he's still alive, we've got to try and save him."

"Good. Two's better than one," Templar said, with enthusiasm he didn't feel.

"Alright. Lead the way. Let's find Menien and get out of here."

Templar turned, and stopped. "And what is _that?_" He asked disgustedly.

It was what appeared to be three slimy tendrils rooted in the ground. Each one ended with a wicked spike about a foot long.

"Don't ask me," Vonius replied. "I only work here."

Templar took a step closer. As he watched, one tendril curved upright and quievered slightly. Then it lashed out at him, almost too quickly for the eye to see. He felt the air swish as the tentacle sliced past.

"You only work here. Great."

They began walking down the path together, a small spark of hope in a bleak and deadly world.

----------

Kill. Kill!

He stabbed the sword deep into the creature's body again and again. It struggled briefly, and then lay still. Five ragged holes pierced its chest.

Templar blinked, came back to his senses.

"What the hell did I do that for?"

He stared down at his handiwork. It was as if something alien had possessed him, some kind of insatiable rage…

It appeared that there was more to Oblivion than a fiery sky. It brought out the worst in people, the gloom, the anger, the fear…

"We'd better continue. We're almost there." Vonius frowned at him, and started picking his way along the path, taking care not to trip on one of the many casually-strewn rocks.

Templar shook his head and jogged after him, wiping the sweat from his eyes.

_Kill. Kill… _

They were about half-way down the path that Templar had seen from the Oblivion Gate. On one side was a rounded cliff-face that towered above them. At the top of the cliff there perched a squarish, fortified tower, with smoke billowing beside it. On the other side was nothing but the endless lava sea, with a towering stilted arch around twenty metres from the shore, some enormous, broken slabs of stone, and a sagging wall that zigzagged off into the distance. Some pillars had fallen across the path, and spiky-leafed bushes were dotted along the lava's edge. They passed another huge gate; this one was also closed, and strangely suspended two metres off the ground. It was mounted on a thick slab of rock that appeared to have fused into the cliff. More of the tentacle-plants were draped over the top in an untidy, tangled mass.

In the distance was another stilted arch, this one spanning the path itself. If he squinted, Templar could see something hanging from the top, suspended on a long, thin rope. As they got closer, he realised it was a human corpse.

"Oh, no," Templar murmured.

The corpse was burnt black, with oozing gashes cut along one side. It swung gently in the soft breeze.

"What did anyone do to deserve that?"

As he watched, the corpse raised an arm feebly.

_It was still alive._

"What the hell-"

Vonius jumped, and looked away. "Come on. Let's get out of here. We can't do anything to help."

Templar shivered violently, and it definitely wasn't because of the temperature.

The path slowly curved around 90 degrees clockwise and began sloping upwards, still following the bottom of the cliff. There was now a soft red glow rising from the lava, and embers dreamily floated through the air. A few more shrubs and reeds were sprouting from the dry earth, and a bulging, sickly-yellow sac was hanging from a rocky overhang with three rigid "legs". More barbed pillars lined the path in the distance, and Templar could see yellow lines streaking across the sky down near the horizon. A scamp was patrolling the path in the far distance.

As they walked, Templar saw a twenty-metre long smooth slab of stone that bridged a gap in the path. As Vonius stepped onto it, Templar heard a rumble.

"Wait." Templar held out a hand.

The rumbling grew louder. The ground began to shake.

Suddenly, a ten-ton _boulder_ launched itself over the cliff above them and slammed down onto the stone slab, where Vonius had been standing a few seconds beforehand. It bounced jarringly and rolled off into the lava, which hissed and steamed with the impact.

The scamp on the path turned around, searching for the source of the disturbance. Briefly, it locked eyes with Templar, and began running towards them.

"Okay. Across the bridge," Vonius said slowly. "_Carefully_ across the bridge," he added.

They stepped out onto the stone. More rumbling. They turned their eyes skyward.

Another boulder sailed through the air and smashed into the stone about half-way across the bridge. It cracked ominously.

"We should probably move faster. The bridge won't take much more of that."

They edged forward. The scamp had reached the other end of the bridge and was cautiously stepping onto it.

More rumbling. Before Vonius could look up, he noticed that they were standing in what appeared to be a rapidly-growing circular shadow.

"Get out of the WAY!" he roared.

He grabbed Templar's arm and yanked him sideways. Another boulder crashed into the rock, spraying shards of stone everywhere.

A crack appeared in the bridge. It lazily zig-zagged across the stone, before reaching the edge. A little shower of dust sprinkled into the lava below.

Slowly, irresistibly, the mighty slab began to separate with an almighty _CRAAAACKKK!_

Vonius cringed. "My friend, I think we should start running."

"Agreed," Templar replied.

They began running across the bridge. Behind them, a section of the bridge slowly toppled…

…and splashed into the lava, spraying them with molten rock. It slowly sank beneath the surface. Templar winced as molten rock sizzled on his armour.

Templar suddenly heard a scream and looked forwards, to see the scamp charging towards them. It leapt through the air-

-and was thrown out over the lava by a plummeting boulder, which flew into the sea. The demon shrieked as it was engulfed by the searing hot magma.

_Yes. Suffer…_

_What am I thinking? That's not right. I'm normally a nice person._

Then Vonius skidded to a stop as the section in front of them abruptly calved into the lava.

"_Jump!_" Templar shouted.

Vonius faced him, a fearful look in his eyes. "We won't make it! We'll fall!"

"Ignore the fear! Ignore this whole goddamn world! Just JUMP!"

Voinus shielded his eyes as another boulder splashed into the gap before him.

He jumped.

His arms flailed wildly as he sailed through the air – and hit the other side, rolling clumsily to his feet.

_Fine. Now, it's all well and good to tell someone else to jump, but now you have to tell yourself._

Then, threateningly, he felt his own section of bridge tilt sideways.

He scrabbled for a handhold and bent his knees.

"J'YAAARGH!" Templar launched himself into the air.

He landed on his side, kicking up a cloud of dust, only to see the last bit of bridge slowly sink into the burning sea.

"Looks like we won't be going back that way again," Vonius said.

"Yeah," Templar replied tiredly.

He got up, dusted himself off.

"You ready?" Vonius asked.

"Yep. Ready for just about anything, after that."

They continued down the path.

----------

Curved spikes menacingly arched over the path above their heads. The path turned clockwise again, passing a small hollow filled with daedric flora. There were some new, bulbous-headed plants that appeared to secrete a cloud of poisonous gas when approached. There was a slightly hairy moment in a narrow gorge filled with more of the spiky-tentacled plants, but otherwise their way was unhindered. Templar and Vonius pushed their way through a small thicket of brown shrubs and emerged into a large, circular area.

Flames poured from pools of lava dotted here and there in depressions in the earth. Little groves of poison-spewing plants were strewn about in generally inconvenient places. A group of three scamps were patrolling the area. And in the centre of it all, mounted on a steep mound of dirt, was a large, squat tower that loomed ominously above them. Spikes curved outwards from its sides, and the high stone walls were forbidding and uninviting. Two more towers could be seen over the next rise, one even larger. They were all connected by ramshackle bridges that seemed, impossibly, to have no supports whatsoever.

"Is that the keep?" Templar asked in an awed voice.

"No. That's one of the adjoining towers. The keep is the big one in the middle." Vonius pointed over another wall.

"Damn. I though we could've been out of here by Christmas."

The three scamps were swiftly dealt with, and they picked their way across the uneven ground. There were two routes – one to the right, and one past the tower in front of them. Vonius gestured towards the path behind the tower.

The narrow opening into the next area was bridged by a huge arch. They skirted the tower and passed under the arch with wary eyes, hands on their swords. Vonius almost tripped over what appeared to be the ribcage of some gigantic beast.

Templar walked over to where there was a curious, round _thing_ fastened to the ground by hooked legs. As he approached, it began to make a whirring sound.

Templar stepped back.

It launched itself into the air, hovered for a second, and exploded. Burning shrapnel whizzed past his face.

He resolved that he would stay away from those in the future.

"There. It's the door to the keep," Vonius told him softly.

Templar quickly fireballed another scamp before it noticed them, and was somewhat alarmed when it didn't die. _Makes sense, being resistant to fire when you live in a place like this. _He annoyedly fireballed it another three times until it keeled over - if not dead then at least unconscious - and looked to where Vonius was pointing.

There was the base of the largest tower, and there was the entrance – two arched stone doors set flush in the tower walls, inscribed with some glowing daedric runes. And, creepily, there were also words in Cyrodillic, engraved on a stone beside them. They were recognisable, even though it was written in a demonic kind of scrawl: "_Sigil Keep."_

Some more heads were mounted on sticks beside the opening, just in case

anyone hadn't got the message yet.

"So there is the answer to all our worries. The Sigil Keep."

"Great, huh?" Vonius replied. "I never though we'd make it this far. It's been surprisingly free of resistance. Compared to the first time we tried, anyway."

Templar thought quickly, and made a decision.

"Ilend. Sorry. I thank you for your help, but you have to go back."

"What?"

"You have to go back and help Matius and the others hold the barricade."

"What?! I can't just leave you here. Anyway, the bridge is gone." Vonius stared at him.

"You can find another way. There was another path beside the first tower. It leads back in the direction of the gate." _At least, I hope it does,_ Templar thought to himself.

"Why? I've helped you this far. We've gone through it together. Why now?"

"You don't understand!" Templar replied furiously.

"No, you don't understand!" Vonius answered. "Why-"

"Matius needs you more than I do. Now GO!"

"No, I have to-"

Templar sighed. "Ilend, you've been a great help. But I have to do this alone."

_"Why?"_

"Ilend, I –" Templar paused. His shoulders slumped. "I just do. Let's leave it at that."

"Fine. Don't ask me to go to your funeral."

He stalked off back down the path.

_You don't understand. I can't have another life in my hands._

_And I have to redeem myself. Maybe, if I do this, the ghosts will go away. At least I would've done some good in my life._

Templar looked up at the tower, taking in the high stone walls, the hooked spikes, the crenellated battlements at the top. He felt depressingly small.

He pressed on the doors. They opened at his touch, sliding silently aside.

Templar Estantesec entered the Sigil Keep – alone.

----------

2

Templar felt a sudden surge in the background fear of the area. He suppressed it viciously and grabbed hold of Vonius' arm. "Hold it. You have to help Captain Matius hold the barricade. They'll be overwhelmed any minute. I'll close the Gate if I can."

"You're right. You're right," Vonius replied, a haggard look in his eyes. "I should go back and help"

"Good." Templar said. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yes. Good luck. You'll need it." Vonius began making his way towards the Oblivion Gate.

Templar turned, and called out. "What is _that?_" He asked disgustedly.

It was what appeared to be three slimy tendrils rooted in the ground. Each one ended with a wicked spike about a foot long.

"Don't ask me," Vonius replied. "I only work here." He kept walking.

Templar took a step closer. As he watched, one tendril curved upright and quivered slightly. Then it lashed out at him, almost too quickly for the eye to see. He felt the air swish as the tentacle sliced past.

"You only work here. Great."

He began walking down the path, a small spark of hope in a bleak and deadly world.

----------

Kill. Kill!

He stabbed the sword deep into the creature's body again and again. It struggled briefly, and then lay still. Five ragged holes pierced its chest.

Templar blinked, came back to his senses.

"What the hell did I do that for?"

He stared down at his handiwork. It was as if something alien had possessed him, some kind of insatiable rage…

It appeared that there was more to Oblivion than a fiery sky. It brought out the worst in people, the gloom, the anger, the fear…

_I'd better continue. I'm getting close. _Templar shook his head and wiped the sweat from his eyes. He resumed picking his way along the path, taking care not to trip on one of the many casually-strewn rocks.

_Kill. Kill… _

He was about half-way down the path that he had seen from the Oblivion Gate. On one side was a rounded cliff-face that towered above them. At the top of the cliff there perched a squarish, fortified tower, with smoke billowing beside it. On the other side was nothing but the endless lava sea, with a towering stilted arch around twenty metres from the shore, some enormous, broken slabs of stone, and a sagging wall that zigzagged off into the distance. Some pillars had fallen across the path, and spiky-leafed bushes were dotted along the lava's edge. He passed another huge gate; this one was also closed, and strangely suspended two metres off the ground. It was mounted on a thick slab of rock that appeared to have fused into the cliff. More of the tentacle-plants were draped over the top in an untidy, tangled mass.

In the distance was another stilted arch, this one spanning the path itself. If he squinted, Templar could see something hanging from the top, suspended on a long, thin rope. As they got closer, he realised it was a human corpse.

"Oh, no," Templar murmured.

The corpse was burnt black, with oozing gashes cut along one side. It swung gently in the soft breeze.

"What did anyone do to deserve that?"

As he watched, the corpse raised an arm feebly.

_It was still alive._

"What the hell-"

Templar looked away and felt his stomach lurch. _I'd better get out of here. There's nothing I can do to help._

_Except this…_

He notched an arrow to his bow and let it fly at the body's neck. The first shot missed, but the second hit home. A brief trickle of black blood dripped from the wound. The body writhed in the air for a few seconds, and then lay still.

_Rest in peace, my brother._

Templar shivered violently, and it definitely wasn't because of the temperature.

The path slowly curved around 90 degrees clockwise and began sloping upwards, still following the bottom of the cliff. There was now a soft red glow rising from the lava, and embers dreamily floated through the air. A few more shrubs and reeds were sprouting from the dry earth, and a bulging, sickly-yellow sac was hanging from a rocky overhang with three rigid "legs". More barbed pillars lined the path in the distance, and Templar could see yellow lines streaking across the sky down near the horizon. A scamp was patrolling the path in the far distance.

As he walked, Templar saw a twenty-metre long smooth slab of stone that bridged a gap in the path. As he stepped onto it, he heard a rumble.

_Wait. _He stepped back.

The rumbling grew louder. The ground began to shake.

Suddenly, a ten-ton _boulder_ launched itself over the cliff above them and slammed down onto the stone slab, where Templar had been standing a few seconds beforehand. It bounced jarringly and rolled off into the lava, which hissed and steamed with the impact.

The scamp on the path turned around, searching for the source of the disturbance. Briefly, its gaze locked with Templar's, and it began running towards him.

"Okay. Across the bridge," Templar said slowly. "_Carefully_ across the bridge."

He stepped out onto the stone. More rumbling. He turned his eyes skyward.

Another boulder sailed through the air and smashed into the stone about half-way across the bridge. It cracked ominously.

_I might just want to move a little bit faster…_

They cautiously edged forward, the scamp at one end and Templar at the other.

More rumbling. Before Templar could look up, he noticed that he was standing in what appeared to be a rapidly-growing circular shadow.

_Uh-oh…_

Templar dived forwards, sliding across the bridge just in time to avoid another boulder that crashed into the rock, spraying shards of stone.

A crack appeared in the bridge. It lazily zig-zagged across the stone, before reaching the edge. A little shower of dust sprinkled into the lava below.

Slowly, irresistibly, the mighty slab began to separate with an almighty _CRAAAACKKK!_

_If there ever was the time to run, this is it._

He began sprinting across the bridge. Behind him, a section of the bridge slowly toppled…

…and splashed into the lava, spraying him with molten rock. It slowly sank beneath the surface. Tempalr winced as molten rock sizzled on his armour.

Templar suddenly heard a scream and looked forwards, to see the scamp charging towards him. It leapt through the air-

-and was thrown out over the lava by a plummeting boulder, which flew into the sea. The demon shrieked as it was engulfed by the searing hot magma.

_Yes. Suffer…_

_What am I thinking? That's not right. I'm normally a nice person._

Then Templar skidded to a stop as the section in front of him abruptly calved into the lava. He looked at the ever-widening gap, between him a dry land, with fearful eyes.

_I won't make it. I'll fall…_

_Ignore the fear! Ignore this whole goddamn world! Just JUMP!_

_It's all well and good to tell somebody else to jump, but now you have to tell yourself._

Templar shielded his eyes as another boulder splashed into the gap before him. Threateningly, he felt his own section of bridge tilt sideways.

"BOOYAH!"

He jumped.

His arms flailed wildly as he sailed through the air – and just managed grabbed onto the precipice, scrabbling for a handhold.

He stared at the bubbling sea below him, and began to pull himself up with renewed determination.

"aaaArrRGhGhGHGGHgh!"

His chest edged up onto the path. Then his stomach. Then a leg. Then another leg.

He lay there, panting, only to see the last bit of bridge slowly sink into the burning ocean.

_Looks like I won't be going back that way again._

He got up, dusted himself off.

_I'm ready for just about anything after that._

Templar continued down the path, a small, slightly more exhausted spark of hope in a bleak, deadly and now avalanche-prone world.

----------

Curved spikes menacingly arched over the path above his head. The path turned clockwise again, passing a small hollow filled with daedric flora. There were some new, bulbous-headed plants that appeared to secrete a cloud of poisonous gas when approached. There was a slightly hairy moment in a narrow gorge filled with more of the spiky-tentacled plants, but otherwise Templar's way was unhindered. He pushed through a small thicket of brown shrubs and emerged into a large, circular area.

Flames poured from pools of lava dotted here and there in depressions in the earth. Little groves of poison-spewing plants were strewn about in generally inconvenient places. A group of three scamps were patrolling the area. And in the centre of it all, mounted on a steep mound of dirt, was a large, squat tower that loomed ominously above them. Spikes curved outwards from its sides, and the high stone walls were forbidding and uninviting. Two more towers could be seen over the next rise, one even larger. They were all connected by ramshackle bridges that seemed, impossibly, to have no supports whatsoever.

_Damn. I though this would be easy. Kill the bad guys, get the girl, save the world. But now I have to get into this great big_ _TOWER._

The three scamps were swiftly and stealthily dealt with – a man made remarkably little noise when firing a bow and arrow - and he picked his way across the uneven ground. There were two routes – one to the right, and one past the tower in front of them. _Well, I guess it's the one past the tower. That's where the base of the BIGGER tower is, anyway. As isn't it true that the evil mastermind always likes to have the really big evil lair?_

The narrow opening into the next area was bridged by a huge arch. He skirted the tower and passed under the arch with wary eyes, hand on his sword. Templar almost tripped over what appeared to be the ribcage of some gigantic beast.

He walked over to where there was a curious, round _thing_ fastened to the ground by hooked legs. As he approached, it began to make a whirring sound.

Templar stepped back.

It launched itself into the air, hovered for a second, and exploded. Burning shrapnel whizzed past his face.

He resolved that he would stay away from those in the future.

_There. The door to the central keep. _

Templar quickly fireballed another scamp before it noticed them, and was somewhat alarmed when it didn't die. _Makes sense, being resistant to fire when you live in a place like this. _He annoyedly fireballed it another three times until it keeled over - if not dead then at least unconscious.

There was the base of the largest tower, and there was the entrance – two arched stone doors set flush in the tower walls, inscribed with some glowing daedric runes. And, creepily, there were also words in Cyrodillic, engraved on a stone beside them. They were recognisable, even though it was written in a demonic kind of scrawl: "_Sigil Keep."_

Some more heads were mounted on sticks beside the opening, just in case anyone hadn't got the message yet.

"So there is the answer to all our worries. The Sigil Keep," Templar said to himself.

_To tell the truth, I never though I'd make it this far. It's been surprisingly free of resistance. _

_Hrmph. Maybe they're saving the best till last._

He looked up at the tower, taking in the high stone walls, the hooked spikes, the crenellated battlements at the top. He felt depressingly small.

_Maybe I should have asked for the guard's help. Too late now._

_Then again, maybe it's for the best. I won't have another life in my hands._

_And I have to redeem myself. Maybe, if I do this alone, the ghosts will go away. At least I would've done some good in my life._

He pressed on the doors. They opened at his touch, sliding silently aside.

Templar Estantesec entered the Sigil Keep – alone.

----------


	15. The Sigil Keep

_I'm back! 50,000 words! Twenty-five reviews (almost)!_

_Author's Note: Sorry about the delay, but I just had my mid-year exams. So I had to study for them, which left me very little time in which to write. Then I had the Bunbury Eisteddfod, so I had to practice for that. Then my computer stopped working after I put in a new videocard, so I had to get that fixed. But here I am._

_There was also going to be a few multiple choice bits in this chapter, but no matter which path you choose in the game they lead to the same place anyway (e.g. both doors on the bottom level lead to the same room). So I took them out. And I could have done more with the descriptions, but it's all spikes and stone anyway, so I'm sure you can imagine it. Also, the weird phrases and things that Templar imagines at the end are meant to be him going a tiny bit crazy. Or something. I apologise if they're irritating._

_Anyway, enjoy the (quite long) chapter. _

_EDIT: I had a bit of a mixup with my Microsoft Word documents and had to do a bit of cutting and pasting, so mention it if you spot any glaring errors._

The Sigil Keep

_**The Blood Feast, Sigil Keep, The Plane of Oblivion, Last Seed 29 3E433**_

_Ooh, it's _freezing_ in here!_

Frost began to form on Templar's armour as he crouched in the shadows, trying not to think about where he was and what he was doing.

_Suppress the fear. Don't listen to it. You sent Vonius away for his own good. For _your _own good._

A series of flat stone steps led up to the central chamber of the tower. The curved walls were made of rough, uneven stone which glistened with a strange wetness. Spiked ribs arched overhead at even intervals around the room, and undulating designs were carved into the smooth stone floor, which was divided into eight sections by thick black lines. In the centre of the room a huge pillar of flame seared upwards, emanating from a bubbling pool of lava that was ringed by a small stone barricade. Two openings were placed on opposite sides of the round hall – each guarded by a small scamp - and a pair of demonic altars were situated beside the entrance. A roughly carved sign was stuck to the rock beside him, once again in daedric runes and Cyrodillic.

_'The Blood Feast'._

"Nice," he muttered under his breath.

He looked up. Through the hole in the ceiling Templar could see the full extent of the tower.Walkways wound their way up the gigantic keep, the roof so far above that it was hazy and indistinct, obscured by the pillar of flame. To all appearances, the temperature should have been boiling.

It wasn't. The walls were so cold that it almost hurt to touch them, and Templar's breath puffed in little clouds of vapour.

_Bloody hell. Too hot or too cold. It's never just right, is it._

_And if it IS just right, there's usually a monster or too to spoil it anyway._

Templar waited for the first scamp to walk past his hiding spot by the entrance, launched himself out of the shadows and tackled it to the ground. It squealed in protest and wriggled out from under him, darting away. Templar cursed and shot off a fireball, which missed by a few inches.

The next one hit it in the chest, throwing it over the stone fence and into the pool of lava.

_Ice. Ice, ice, ice. If the damn things are resistant to fire magic, what if I could use some ice?_

He opened his hand and pumped his arm forward.

"Damn. I knew it wouldn't be that easy."

_Okay, try again. Think of the cold. Think of sucking it into your body, into a condensed ball of pure ice. And get rid of it in one blast, preferably directed at someone._

A floating ball of blue-white particles left his fingers and zipped towards the nearest scamp. It collided with flesh…

…and Templar watched as the demon keeled over, tendrils of snow encircling its limbs, until it lay silently encased in a thin layer of ice.

He walked over and kicked it gently. He was rewarded with a cracking sound as its arm broke off and the shoulder.

"Oops."

He turned found himself facing a dremora. Its spiky, red-and-black armour looked quite menacing, as did its notched mace. Oddly enough, it wasn't wearing a helmet, so its wonderful visage was revealed. Pallid green skin was stretched over bony cheeks, with narrow, slitted eyes and a mouth filled with fangs.

"At least I can always say that I'm not as ugly as you."

_Oh, god, did I say that out loud?_

The dremora snarled and raised its shield.

_I guess I did._

The dremora charged.

Templar leapt to meet him.

----------

Parry, thrust – block! – sidestepsidestep – slash! – block, block –

Templar swung wildly. The daedra parried with ease, and swung its mace in an overhand arc. Templar raised his shield above his head and reeled backward with the impact. He shook his head to clear it and swung again, leaning in with the blow. Sparks flew as the blade slid along the hilt of the dremora's raised mace, coming to a stop as it reached the sharp-edged head.

Templar pushed with all his might, trying to get the demon back. The dremora bared its fangs and leaned towards him so that their faces were almost touching over their locked weapons.

"Being beaten – by a human – no less," Templar wheezed. "Shameful, dremora – shameful."

It roared and leapt backwards, once again raising its weapon and shield, ready to fight.

The dremora smiled. And then it formed a ball of ice in the air before it, flicking its gauntleted fist forwards.

_Damn. I didn't think they could do magic._

Templar ducked. The ice swept past him, solidifying and shattering as it reached the far wall.

Another frost-ball leapt from its fingers. Templar raised his shield to block it. Shards of ice spiraled away as it impacted with the metal. Ice began to creep up his arm.

A third snowball sped towards him, and Templar did the only thing he could think of. He shot of a fireball _at the oncoming ball of ice._

They met and collided with splintering force. Shards of ice and strands of fire interwove and exploded outwards in a rippling, scintillating sphere. In the confusion, Templar edged around to the other side of the pillar of flame, so that he faced the dremora over the pool of molten rock. The air shimmered.

_Hey, it worked. All praises to dangerous magical experimentation._

Apart from a small trickle of blood where an ice shard had nicked him, all was quite well considering the circumstances.

They circled around the pool, Templar trying to keep opposite the dremora. All of a sudden it began to sprint – and tripped – and fell head-over-heels into the bubbling pool.

_Ah, yes. Your screams are music to my ears, _Templar though happily. _Beaten by a human. If it makes you feel any better, I'm the only Templar in the whole of Cyrodiil._

The dremora's mace floated on the surface for a moment, before slowly sinking into the molten rock.

----------

_That was remarkably fortunate. I'll have to remind myself to do a bit of praying when I get out of here._

_Ha, I could get Martin to pray for me. The Gods would probably listen to the future Emperor's requests. _

_If he's alive, of course._

Templar glanced at the two doors on either side of the room. Each was labeled '_The Rending Halls'_.

_Ooh, I do look forward to my daily dose of rending. _

_----------_

_Rending, rending, rending. I like the word so much I'll say it one more time. Rrrrren_ding!

He'd chosen the door on the left, after some careful consideration. They both probably led to the same place, and he'd get to the top eventually anyway, so what did it matter? It'd still be cold.

Glossy stone arched above him as he made his way up the steep stone ramp. It turned a sharp ninety-degree corner and rose a bit more before ending at another door, with lava seeping out from between the two sections. "_The Citadel Hall._"

_What, really, did he hope to achieve by doing this? It was going to close _one _Oblivion gate, out of how many? The enemy could open infinitely more of them. He should probably just give up now and get someone else to go around saving bloody Kvatch-_

_Stop it!_

He drew his sword and pressed the stone gently. The door slid open, stone grinding softly against stone, to reveal –

Some very pissed-off daedra.

Before they could react, Templar charged into the room. His sword sliced into a scamp's neck, hot blood spurting from the wound. It fell to the ground, dead. Templar quickly turned his attention to the other enemy. It was wearing a black robe and wielded a small mace. _A mage?_

It raised its arm in the air. White light surrounded its body in a strangely _heavenly_ aura. Clouds of white light streamed from its fingers, and condensed into a small, scamp-like shape.

The light solidified into a stunted, angry demon.

_Kill the summoner, kill the summoned. Makes sense, doesn't it?_

Templar ran straight for the mage, swinging his weapon wildly. It backed away, eyes darting from side to side, looking for an escape.

Finding none, it raised its mace – which was knocked from its hands, sliding along the stone floor. It looked up into the terrible eyes of the monster that assaulted it –

Blackness.

Templar wiped his blood-encrusted sword on the dremora's robe and turned just in time to see the scamp dissolve into nothingness. He looked around.

Pillars etched with weird, thorny designs reached up to the roof, and curved, evil-looking spikes were mounted on the ceiling. Soft red light shone through strange stone windows that lined the walls.

The only other thing in the room was a fat stone pedestal, a small blob of red liquid mounted on its centre. Templar decided not to touch it, which might have had something to do with the beating heart mounted above it.

_I have seriously HAD IT with these people._

Two more doors. Templar chose the left again.

It opened back to the central tower, above one of the sloping walkways that had curved around its sides. The pillar of flame was so bright that hurt his eyes to look at it.

He made his way around, staying close to the wall. There were small stone railings, but still…

At the other side of the tower were another two doors, less than a metre apart.

_Ooh, ooh, ooh, guess what? I'll go RIGHT this time!_

The door slid open. Templar saw another dark stone corridor awaiting him. "_The Corridors of Dark Salvation,_" according to the plaque. He stepped inside, and began making his way up the curving ramp.

At the top, he crouched down and stealthily peered into the next chamber. Two scamps were patrolling around what seemed to be three stone benches. Once again, spikes speared downwards from the high ceiling, and thick pillars arched overhead. There were another two doors, one to his left and one directly in front of him, and in each corner there was a set of three small holes in the wall.

_What was that he could see? It's so damn hard to see in the gloom. No, wait, it's a blood splatter. Pretty. And is that the body of a scamp?_

Indeed it was. A scamp lay on the ground, blood leaking from wounds in its torso.

_Don't worry about that now. Time for a bit of scamp killing._

He tiptoed forwards, making his way to the cover of the nearest pillar. If eh could take them out stealthily, it would be a lot easier.

He reached the pillar and carefully unhooked his bow, pulling an arrow from his quiver. He nocked it to the string…

And let go. A soft _twang!_ echoed in the silence, accompanied by a groan as the scamp fell to the ground, an arrow protruding from its neck.

Now, he had to make his way around the edge of the room so he could get behind the other one-

Too late. It turned, and saw a little puff of frosty breath escape from someone that was hiding behind a pillar.

Templar slung his bow across his back and backed away. The scamp ran towards him. Before he knew it, he was backed into a corner, the one with the dead scamp.

_CLUNK. Ka-ching!_

A trio of spikes shot out of the wall, brushing the front of his breastplate and spearing the unfortunate scamp.

"Woah woah woah!"

Templar fell against the wall, eyes wide. As the spikes retracted, the scamp was jerked off and fell onto its brethren.

He looked down at his breastplate and saw where the top spike had scored a furrow in the metal.

"That was close." He got up wearily. "Bloody spike traps."

_I'm sure Lord Death is hanging around just _waiting_ for me to die. I've had so many near-death experiences it just isn't funny anymore. _

_Make a good book, though. Exciting adventure story. Maybe I'll write it one day._

He walked over to the north door, and pressed it firmly. It didn't budge.

"Alright then. The west door."

It glided open, the interlocking spikes that held it closed clicking apart. Templar stepped through –

- and found himself standing on a very high and very narrow bridge.

----------

Gusts of wind buffeted his armour as he made a panicked lunge for the nearest handhold.

"Argh!" A strangled scream escaped from his throat.

He was standing on one of those spindly bridges he had seen from the ground with Vonius. It was barely half-a-metre wide, and was made of crude slabs of stone that looked as if they weren't held together by anything. At all. Which made Templar very nervous. There weren't any railings to speak of, and the only thing preventing him from falling to his death were upturned spikes that were embedded on the sides. While he couldn't see far due to the damn red mist that made everything hazy, he could definitely see the ground. And it was a long way down.

He jerked his head upwards and stared at the door to the next tower, at the other end of the walkway.

_Argh!_

He swayed wildly as another gust of wind tugged at his body, threatening to plunge him over the edge.

_It would probably be best if I crawl. Lower center of gravity and all that._

_But what of your dignity? It would be quite shameful, a warrior in shiny steel armour crawling across a bridge,_ said his inner self.

_Stuff dignity, _his outer self replied.

Templar began to crawl.

----------

It was a really, _really_ long way down. He sighed with relief as he saw the door to the adjoining tower barely metres in front of him. He pulled himself to his feet, pressed up against the door, and pounded on it frantically.

"Hurry, _hurry_," he muttered impatiently. "Open _up_."

The stone slabs creaked apart. The wind whistled as it darted in through the new gap. Templar hurriedly stepped inside, wincing again at the cold.

"Over here! Quickly!"

_Oh, god._ _Gaping wounds. Leaking pus. Jaw ripped away. Ragged flesh. Jutting bones. Putrid skin._

_What have they DONE to him?_

Hanging in front of him, suspended from the ceiling by a thin rope, was a human corpse. Another one was swinging gently on the other side of the tower.

_Akatosh help us, if this is what we're facing._

The corpse's empty eye sockets stared at him vacantly, a hellish smile etched on the remainder of its face. Its arms were tied behind its back, and tattered strips of flesh had been torn from its body. Half of its ribcage was exposed, and fingers and flesh had been cut off at random. The other corpse was no better.

He looked down. He stood on a curving ramp that wound down the pitted stone wall of the tower, all the way to the ground. The floor seemed to be a mesh of huge spikes, with scamps guarding the area around it. Small platforms and spikes jutted out from the ramp at regular intervals.

"Wait." Templar stopped, forcing himself to look away. "Didn't I hear a human voice just then-?"

"In the cage! Over here!"

Templar looked up. Through the weirdly-patterned mesh floor above him, he could see…

What could he see? There was an opening in the roof, he could see the red sky. There was a cage of metal, an egg-shaped thing. Inside was… a man?

A man! Alive!

"Hey! You're alive!" Templar shouted out, ignorant of the enemies below. He began running up the ramp, racing towards the voice.

"Oh, I never though I'd see another human face," the voice said, shuddering.

"Shut up, prisoner!" said a new voice, this one eerily harsh in tone, menacing and angry.

_Damn. I should've know that the only human I've seen alive in this place would be guarded. He's a prisoner, too. I'm getting déjà vu here…_

"Wait! I'm coming!"

Templar drew his sword, and formed a ball of ice in his left hand, ignoring the weight of his shield.

A dully-armoured dremora stood at the top of the ramp, sword drawn, shield up. It hissed, and slashed its sword.

"Fine. You want to play, dremora? Welcome to the arena."

It hissed again, slowly advancing down the ramp.

Templar edged forward, the ball of ice concealed behind his shield. "Come closer dremora. Not scared are you?" he called out playfully.

The dremora growled, began to come closer.

"I'm only an eensy-weensy human, that's come intruding into your goddamn world and is going to goddamn blow it up!"

It roared.

"Anger management, dremora. Anger management."

And with that, he let his frostball fly. It struck the dremora square in the chest. The dremora staggered backwards, arms wheeling. It said something unintelligible and began to form a fireball in its palm, bringing it close to the ice that was spreading rapidly across its breastplate. The ice began to melt from the heat, dripping onto the ramp.

A few seconds later it stood up, a trickle of water now dribbling down the ramp past Templar's feet.

"Smart, I'll give you that."

They engaged. The dremora swung first, aiming high. Templar leaned backwards and lashed out at the dremora's side. It blocked with its shield, metal scraping on metal. Templar pressed his advantage, slamming his shield at the dremora's shoulder.

Swords clashed. Shields crashed. They were now fighting so that the dremora's back was against the wall and Templar's was against nothing but the air. For one dizzying moment, Templar was leaning out over the side of the ramp to dodge a blow, and caught a vertigo-inducing glimpse of the spiked floor below. Then he was back in combat, thrusting and parrying furiously.

_Maybe_, he though breathlessly, _I should have spent less time taunting him and just tried to kill him_

Templar heard clawed feet. He took a quick glance down the ramp; a trio of scamps were running up the ramp a level below, hoping to join the fight.

The rotated again, Templar now on the higher part of the ramp. He cut downwards. The dremora blocked the blow by raising its shield over its head. Templar kicked-

His foot impacted with the dremora's stomach, not doing any damage through the armour, but still causing him to topple backwards.

And fall, sliding down the ramp…

…into the group of scamps, sending all four daedra sliding over the edge of the ramp.

Templar looked, if only for the satisfaction of another couple of daedra being impaled on long, sharp spikes.

_What's with me today? I seem to be a lot more serious. _

_Maybe because the situation IS a lot more serious._

_Maybe it's because the daedra are trying to invade our world, killing and burning._

_Stop it! Be cheerful. Don't let the place get to you. Stand straight. Your armour is the prettiest in all of Cyrodiil. Cakes, butterflies, daisies!_

He saw a sparkle on the ground, and leaned down for a closer look. It was an intricately-engraved steel key.

"Could be useful." He pocketed it.

"Hurry up! More of them will be here any minute!" The voice cut though his reverie.

"Oh, right. Sorry." Templar walked back up the ramp, desperately trying not to look at the hanging corpses.

_Hah, it's like the Hanging Gardens of Summerset, except it's the hanging corpses of _– he looked for the engraving – _Reaper's Sprawl. Where do they get all these names, anyway? _

He emerged onto the landing, and saw a man in a loincloth standing in an egg-shaped cage made of fused metal bars. Huge brass rings hung from ledges overhead, and Templar felt his stomach lurch as he gazed through the mesh floor and down…

"Quickly, quickly! There's no time!" The prisoner pressed his face through the bars of his cage.

"Wha-? Oh, right. Who are you?"

"I'm-

----------

_The guards began to jog across the bridge, past the huge gate that towered above them. _

_Their captain called out to them. "Be watchful. We don't know anything about this god-forsaken hellhole, so be on your toes."_

"_Yes, Menien, you've told us this already," one replied. "We agreed to undertake the mission. We knew it wouldn't be easy. We knew there was a distinct chance of death."_

"_I know," the captain replied. "I'm sorry, but I keep remembering the people."_

"_Forget the people, Menien. We've got a job to do."_

"_Yes, yes. I know-"_

_The guards turned as one as they heard a low creaking sound from behind them._

_"What's happening?"_

_As they watched, the gate behind them began to close, the two sections ponderously sliding together. Menien jerked around. The gate in front of them, on the other side of the bridge was closing too!_

_"Get out of here! Everyone, get out! Before we're trapped!"_

_The Kvatch guardsmen began sprinting towards the closing gate. One pulled ahead slightly, angling for the gap. The gates began to draw together-_

_The leading guard threw himself through the air and slid between the gates, stone brushing past his cuirass. One desperate hand darted through the gap – _

_The gates slammed closed. Blood trickled from between the gates as the man's hand was crushed to oblivion._

"_Aaarghhh!" The scream echoed through the hills and valleys. The trapped guards began pounding on the stone frantically, hysterically. The one guard who'd made it through pulled at the two doors with all his might._

_Menien called out from the other side, looking through a tiny slit formed between indents in the two gates. "Ilend! Get out of here! There is nothing you can do!"_

"_Shut up, Menien! I can get them open; I just have to find the mechanism-"_

_A road filled the air, growing and growing until the guards had to cover their ears. It cut off abruptly, the sound reverberating through the landscape._

"_It's too late, Vonius!" another guard shouted. "Leave us! We'll defend ourselves."_

"_No, it's not too late damn you-"_

_The trapped guardsmen stood back to back, swords drawn, waiting for an attack. Vonius peered through the gap, trying to see what has happening._

_Claws clacked on stone; one guard lashed out with his sword, scoring a hit on an unseen daedra. The man with the crushed hand wailed pitifully as something slammed into his chest, knocking him flat. Vonius cringed as the man's chest was torn open by rending claws. Menien flashed past, yelling a war cry._

"_No! NO!" Vonius screamed as his friends were cut down one by one, a pool of blood spreading around their desperate last stand._

_Vonius screamed._

_----------_

-Menien Goneld. Captain in the Kvatch Guard."

"Are you the ones-"

"Yes," he sighed. "We're the ones."

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened. If it's any consolation, Vonius survived. I sent him back out," Templar replied.

"Really? He wouldn't've liked that. I think he really wanted to get revenge on Oblivion."

"Yeah. He didn't like it. Anyway, I'd better get going quickly. Is there any way I can free you?"

"No," Menien said resignedly.

"What?"

"You can't. The only way you can get out is if they let you out."

"There must be some way I can saw through the bars or something. _Something._"

"There isn't. Look, I don't mind dying. If it saves Kvatch, it's worth it."

"I would never have the courage to say that," Templar murmured softly.

"You do. Why did you offer to come in here and close the Gate, then? Because you didn't-"

Agitated hissing wafted up from below. Templar looked down, and saw another group of scamps begin to run up the ramp far below.

"You'd better hurry," Menien continued. "You must get to the top of the tallest tower-"

"Sounds like a fairytale," Templar interjected, trying to stay light-hearted.

"It's not. Trust me," Menien winced. "They call it the Sigil Keep. That's what keeps the Oblivion Gate open."

"What do I do?" Templar asked quickly, ever aware of the rapidly approaching daedra.

"Find the Sigil Stone. Remove it, and the Gate will close! Hurry! The key you picked up; it's the Keeper's key to the tower. You must hurry!"

"I just can't leave a human being in here to die-"

"See?" Menien smiled. "There's your courage. A lesser man would have run off long ago."

Templar stopped, staring into space.

"Thanks, Menien. You have no idea how much that means. Maybe if I get there quickly enough I can save you and anyone else still alive."

"I doubt it," he replied, "but try. As you say, there _might_ still be some other people alive. Somewhere. Godspeed."

"Thanks. I'll do my best."

Templar turned, sadness welling up in him. _Here was a man prepared to die just so that he had the slimmest chance to save many. _Clawed feet clacked on the ramp below. He glanced down; the scamps were only one level below.

"Hurry!" Menien shouted.

Templar ran full pelt down the ramp, desperately trying to keep his footing on the slick stone. There was the door-

He ran into it, pressed firmly with his hands. "Open, goddamnit!"

It did. He jumped.

_Ohmygodthebridge-_

He looked behind him. The scamps were ten metres down and closing fast.

"Oh, _f---!_" he yelled.

Five metres.

Suddenly, a shadow swept over him. He looked up, and caught a glimpse of black leathery wings. From inside the tower he heard a scream.

"Oh, no." _Menien._

_----------_

A man, in steel armour, running and stumbling blindly across a stick-thin bridge. His pursuers, a trio of small scamps, snarling and leaping.

It was, really, quite funny.

Until one scamp tripped the wrong way and tumbled out into nothingness. The other two continued unperturbed, now more determined to catch their prey. The man fell to his knees, but launched himself to his feet, steadying himself briefly as the wind eddied around the bridge. He drew his bow, looked behind him. One scamp was ahead of the other. The man aims quickly and fires; the arrow misses by a foot, clattering against the wall of the opposite tower. He curses and keeps running, now three-quarters of the way across. The first scamp is now merely five feet behind him. It leaps-

-and crashes into the man's back in a ball of screeching claws. The man falls to the ground, lashing out wildly with his feet and kicking the scamp in the chest. The scamp slides backwards, and over the edge. It manages to grab a small handhold and hangs there, panting. The man looks back and keeps running.

The second scamp is now the closest. The man reaches the door at the far end of the bridge. The second scamp leaps at the man's back. He ducks. The scamp slams head-first into the stone door, falling to the ground in a heap. The man grins in satisfaction, viciously stamps on its head with a steel boot, and presses the glowing door.

"Open seasame. Open!" Templar shouted into the wind.

The door opened. Templar looked behind him to see the first scamp pull itself up. He stepped through the opening and silently willed the doors to close. "_Comeon, comeon..._"

The door closed.

"Now how the hell do you _lock_ these things?" He took the key from his belt and searched for a little slot to put it in.

"Umm, okay..." _There weren't any openings above or below, so it probably went in the door. Somewhere. Maybe in the gap between the doors?_

He slowly traced a line along the small, glowing gap where the doors met. No holes. _Nope. Obviously not._

_Click!_

Spikes lashed down from the ceiling, stabbing into the door, holding it closed.

"O-_kay_." _So that's how you lock a door in Oblivion._He heard the scamps begin pounding on the other side. "Have fun," he muttered under his breath.

Templar turned back to the room he was in, the Citadel Hall with the benches and spike traps. He walked up to the locked doors at the north end and traced a line down the centre, the key scraping on the stone, forcing a path through the orange-yellow liquid that seeped through from between them. After a short pause, they parted slowly.

"More ramps. Great."

A darkened upwards-curving passageway stretched out before him. He began climbing with a groan.

At the top, he peered into the next chamber. It was just a small rectangular room, with a doorway to his right and another ramp, identical to the one he'd just climbed, on the opposite side.

There was a soft clinking of claws upon stone from the other ramp. As he watched, a scamp emerged from the darkness, sniffing the air warily.

He almost stepped forwards when something caught his eye.

_There were holes in the walls. _He looked down slowly. _Yes, there was a slightly raised block of stone, which could possibly depress if you put your weight on it, which could possibly set of some unseen mechanism and send a trio of spikes SHOOTING out of the wall to spear the unfortunate intruder._

Possibly.

Templar searched for a loose bit of stone that he could throw. His hand brushed over something metal; he held it up and saw that he'd found a broken arrowhead.

_Good enough. _He tossed it in the air couple of times, and threw it at the wall _behind_ the scamp.

C_hink! _The scamp whirled around, searching for the source of the sound. Templar leapt to his feet, drew his sword, and stepped over the pressure-plate. He ran at the scamp, which whirled and found a sword-blade sticking out of its neck. It fell to the ground limply.

Templar sheathed his sword and looked around. _Right. The door._

It opened at his touch to reveal-

-a towering pillar of fire, pulsing and burning to some arcane rhythm. Templar stepped out onto the narrow catwalk that ringed the hollow core of the tower. He grabbed onto one of the railings and glanced down.

It was a long way.

He looked up.

_Not such a long way._ He could actually make out some sort of roof through the red haze. He began to climb. There was some sort of circle _suspended_ in the air at the far end of the tower. The occasional flash of red lighting sparked from its centre-

Something hissed. Templar glanced to the left and saw a robed dremora walking down the ramp towards him. It raised its arm in the air, a red glow surrounding its body.

_How many bloody daedra do I have to kill before I get to the top of the bloody tower?_

At least one more, said one part of his mind.

A scamp materialised beside the demon, claws raking the air.

_Oh, for the gods' sake-_

Two more!

"You are f---ing AGGRAVATING ME!" he yelled wildly. It echoed around the stone walls.

­_-vating me, -vating me, -vating me…_

Templar cleared his head. The mists lifted. "Oh, that was stupid."

The scamp didn't appear to appreciate this and charged at him anyway. Templar raised his shield in response and ran towards the oncoming scamp. He tensed-

The scamp squealed as it was bashed off to the side in a flurry of limbs. Templar kept running towards the dremora, who'd pulled out a mace. The dremora swung, Templar sidestepped, the mace swishing down past his side. Templar lashed out, the sword cutting deep into the dremora's arm. It grimaced and backed off, blood dripping onto the stone walkway.

Suddenly, it turned and darted away, robes flapping. It didn't stop until it had reached the doors and squeezed through them.

"And _don't come BACK!_"

_Oh, I hate this place._

Templar made his way around the tower core, towards the stone circle.

_Don't let it get to you. Stay calm._ He stumbled into a railing. _I don't want to stay fricking calm!_

_Stop it!_

Templar was panting when he reached the circle, and he didn't know why. It seemed that the past few hours had finally caught up with him. Or the wretched place wasn't content with messing with his mind and had begun to take his strength as well…

He gazed and the slab of stone, suspended in the air a foot from the walkway. It throbbed with a mesmerising red radiance, pinpricks of brightness flaring in the air. A hooked design was carved into the rock, seeming to move in the haze.

_You're probably invincible if you haven't died yet._

Templar stepped out onto the stone, and felt his atoms being rearranged in a most unpleasant way.

----------

_Remind me NEVER to do that again. _Templar winced as he looked at his surroundings. _Teleportation may be quick, but it sure was uncomfortable._

The stream of fire still raged in the air in front of him. Spikes still jutted from the walls. Walkways and ramps still curved up the walls. He looked down.

In fact, the only thing that was different was that he was even higher. He could see the faint glow of the first teleport around fifty metres below him.

_Right._ _There had better be a bloody princess at the top or something, because this definitely ISN'T worth it._

He looked up. There, three levels above him, was a roof of some kind. It was bright red, and appeared to be… beating? As he watched, Templar saw the sheets of red constrict faintly, and expand. They were stretched across spokes of stone that met near the centre of the roof. The pillar of fire shot straight through, burning its way into the blackness above.

Templar turned, ready to go on. Suddenly, he stopped. There, in front of him, was a beating _heart._

It was huge, about a foot high, and it was hanging from three curled spikes that stood on the stone. The top was opened like a flower, flesh curling away to reveal the interior. Templar thought he could hear a faint beating noise as the heart jerked and swayed. He walked over. A few coins and a murky blue jewel lay in between the strands of muscle.

_I can stand demons. I can stand zombies. But I will not put my hand in THAT._

A sickly sweet smell washed over him as the heart pulsed. He stepped backward, covering his nose. Out of the corner of his eye, Templar saw a shadow-

He ducked as a claw slashed the air above his head. He whirled, grabbed the scamp by its shoulders, and threw it over the edge.

_"And f--- you too!"_

He shook his head sadly, and laughed as he heard the crunch.

_What is this place turning me into?_

_----------_

He'd crossed a short bridge, walked up two ramps, and used his key to unlock a door. With these difficult tasks behind him, Templar was smiling as he climbed the next ramp. _Almost at the top, almost at the top…_

It was dark inside, and still freezing cold. But that didn't mater. He'd entered the Sigillum Sanguis, where Menien had said the Sigil Stone was kept. And is he could get that, he could close the gate and get back to the real world.

It was surprisingly bright in this hallway. The walls were rougher than before, and little seams of lava criss-crossed the stone. He estimated he'd gone a full circle when he reached a little doorway that opened into a large room.

It had three levels. The first was the red material he'd seen from below. The second was a thick walkway of stone that circled the edge of the room. And the third was made of more of that red, fleshy substance. A stone balcony jutted out from the wall of the top storey. The pillar of fire was much thinner and more controlled here, and stopped just before the roof of the chamber. Mighty stone "ribs" were spaced around the edge of the room, each engraved in confusing, spiraling patterns.

Ramps made of horizontally-laid metal spikes wound up to the second level, while ramps of red connected the second with the third. At the far end of the room, red light spilled into the room from a wide chasm in the wall, there was an opening in the roof far above, lined with hooked spines. In the centre of the room, at the same height as the third level, a circle of stone inscribed with daedric runes was hanging from the ceiling by metal chains as thick as Templar's arm. The stream of fire appeared to stop there, and if he looked closely, Templar could see something glinting from between the flames.

Beside him there were two fountains, each shaped like the bottom half of a globe. One flared with a blue glow, while the other propelled a thin stream of fluorescent red liquid into the air, which splashed down onto the flat surface of the fountain.

An adequate venue for a final showdown, Templar thought to himself. _But a showdown with whom?_

The area was eerily silent, apart from the faint roar of flames as they shot up through the centre of the space. No footsteps, no hissing. No one at all.

Templar began to climb the first ramps, taking care not to impale himself on the spines of that made up the ramp. _Honestly, how inconvenient do you want to make it? It's made of SPIKES, for Akatosh's sake._

At the top, he stopped, listening.

Nothing.

He drew his sword, just in case, and walked around to the base of the second ramps, made of the springy red substance. He began to climb stealthily. He stopped halfway, peering upwards.

_Nope. Looks like nobody's home. Or I killed them all. The bastards._

Templar walked up the rest of the ramp. There, suspended in the middle of the room, was a rippling, refracting globe. It seemed to spin crazily as the fire pillar stopped and bloomed around it, its surface reflecting the dance of the flames. The centre of the stone was a deep, dark black.

There was a metre-wide strip of stone that wound around the edge of the chamber. Spokes of stone attached to it held the fleshy substance taut. In this strip of stone were mysterious holes that seemed to glare at Templar in a sinister way.

Crowded around the Sigil stone were a scamp, two daedric knights and one very large individual, wearing the most spiky, evil-looking armour Templar had ever seen. He - or it - dwarfed the other three daedra, and held a very large battleaxe. Templar imagined them grinning beneath their helmets, at the poor soul who'd been foolish enough to believe there was nobody there.

_It couldn't be that easy, could it?_

Templar whipped his bow from his back and let fly with an arrow, aimed at one of the knights' head. It missed, and clattered harmlessly against the far side of the room.

"Dammit!"

The scamp was the first to charge. Templar drew his sword, raised his shield. The scamp lunged. Templar dodged, and swung his shield sideways, catching the scamp on the side of the head and throwing it sideways. Then the two knights were upon him, swinging their swords.

Templar could see that the big one was holding back, watching his minions do the work.

_I probably should feel indignant, that he doesn't think I'm worthy of his axe (and a bloody big axe it is, too). But I'm strangely relieved that I don't have to fight him as well._

_It's the armour, isn't it? I'll have to get it repaired, with all the dents and scratches it's got. Everyone used to think I was a champion of the realm or something when I came running in with my shiny steel plates._

_Bloody armour._

There was a sword coming at him, a cruel-looking sword, coming at him fast with a daedra attached to the other end of it. Templar threw himself to one side. It slashed past him, whistling through the air. The second knight stepped forwards. Templar blocked the blow with his shield and swung back, managing to nick the daedra's cuirass as it backed away. Templar readied a fireball with his shield-arm and staggered backwards as a sword crashed into his side. He raised his sword over his head to block the next blow. Sparks flew as the first daedra's blade slid along his longsword. Templar pushed up, and their blades parted with a flourish. He loosed the fireball at the second daedra, which hissed as the fire impacted with its left shoulderpad, making it glow red-hot. Templar leapt at it and smashed his sword into the daedra's helmet.

_CLAANNGG! _It stumbled back with a roar and lashed out wildly. The hooked point of its sword slid under Templar's armguard and ripped it off, flinging it away, and leaving a red cut that slashed down his forearm. He winced as he saw blood begin to drip to the floor. _No time for a healing spell. _The first daedra darted forward, swinging its sword in a wide arc at Templar's neck. Templar blocked it with his shield and grunted as the blow jarred his arm. He felt movement behind him, and dropped to the ground, lunging to the left. The sword sheared through the air above his head. Templar sprang to his feet and swung at the second daedra. He yelled in pain as he stumbled, twisting his ankle awkwardly.

_Breathe, dammit!_

The second daedra thrust its sword forward, aiming for Templar's heart. He brought his sword up in time to nudge the point away, but not far enough. It slammed into his shoulder and spun him round. The daedra rushed forward, lunging with its sword. Templar sidestepped and shoulder-charged the demon, getting inside its range and crashing together. They tumbled to the round in a tangle of metal.

Templar rolled to his feet, winded. He clutched at his stomach and readied himself for the next onslaught.

Both daedra were in front of him, and were beginning to circle warily. The first made a clumsy cut, but Templar saw it coming and swatted it aside.

_Shing! Shing!_

He slashed back with his left, again and again. The daedra blocked desperately with its shield, lurched backwards. Templar pressed forwards.

Suddenly, the knight slipped away and parried with disappointing firmness. Templar stumbled backwards, off balance, and gave a shocked gasp as his sword was swiped aside and a booted foot smashed into his breastplate.

"Ooof." He groaned as he crashed to the floor, weapon skittering across the red surface.

_Blood trickled down his arm, falling to the floor in tiny little droplets. Drip, drip. Drip, drip._

Templar was suddenly aware that he was still alive. He looked up, panting.

The two daedra had backed away, to stand beside their leader. Templar took his chance and retrieved his sword, wearily sliding it back into its sheath.

"All right, I give up now. Everyone happy?"

Obviously not. The big daedra said something guttural to his companions, and stepped forward.

It raised its axe menacingly and roared, a great, earth-shaking roar, that dislodged stone from the walls and made the roof vibrate.

"Oh, no."

_I've been deemed worthy, have I? Strangely enough, I don't feel any hint of pride._

One moment Templar was staring at a roaring demon, the next an axe blade was rushing at his head. Templar jumped backwards and drew his sword again, staring wildly as the edge of the blade slashed past his nose. Templar was about to charge forward when the he saw the axe coming at him again a split-second later.

"Argh!"

He ducked, sprang to his feet and raised his shield for the next swing-

It came with terrifying force. Templar was thrown through the air as the axe slammed into the side of his shield. He heard something crack and hoped it wasn't him.

_Must keep hold of the sword-_

He crashed to the ground a couple of metres away, and saw that the side of his shield had been bent inwards at almost a ninety-degree angle.

_Woah…_

And then he was being pulled up into the air by a pair of hands around his neck. He turned, fully expecting to see a set of glowing red eyes.

But in fact, the daedric knight was standing three metres away from him, with one arm stretched out.

_Oh, he's a f---ing WIZARD, now._

Templar hung there, dangling in mid air, unable to break free from the demon's invisible grip. It pulled its arm back a little. Templar felt himself being dragged through the air. Then it shot its arm forwards-

Templar was thrown backwards with humongous force and _slammed _into the stone wall of the chamber. He slid to the ground and heard something else crack. This time, it definitely _was_ him. Templar felt the stone beneath him move a little.

He looked down at his legs dizzily, vision fading. He saw that one of them was lying over one of those mysterious holes.

Events flashed through his mind. Memories were triggered.

_Fighting scamps. Darkness. There was a hole in the wall._

_What about the hole? What was special?_

_Something dying. A trident…_

_Spikes. Walls. Scraping stone._

_Stone going down?_

_Spikes coming _out_ of the wall._

_Spikes coming OUT of the wall._

_Spikes coming out of the floor-_

He watched in horror as a foot-long spike punched straight through his thigh.

----------

_Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrrrrrrggghhhhhhhhh-_

Templar Estantesec lay writhing on the ground, blood seeping through his fingers as he scrabbled at the hole in his leg.

The ground vibrated as heavy footsteps thumped nearer, each one an eternity of pain. He rolled over, and saw the daedric champion raise its mighty axe slowly. Shadows flitted across his vision. The demon became two demons, then one, then two again. His ears roared with noises and echoes, but he thought he heard it speak.

_Die in shame, human human huuummaan_

_Whooooshh-_

The axe came down-

_DOWN-_

_Down-_

_Down-_

_down-_

_down-_

And stopped as a silver sword punched straight through the daedra's helmet.

_Shinnnnggggg!_

It keeled over and fell to the ground, axe still clasped in mighty fists.

_Ssssssshhhhhhh – WHUMP – crkrkcrkcrkkrc……_

Through the haze, Templar saw a faint, blurry shape sheath its sword and kneel down behind him. Even the pain retreated to the back of his mind when he saw who it was.

Vonius.

----------

Ilend Vonius knelt down beside his fallen comrade. He rummaged around under the man's battered armour.

"Shit" The potions on his belt were either cracked or shattered, except for a potion of sorcery.

"Shit," Vonius said again. He glanced around. The man wouldn't survive without some magical help. Something was glinting…

He crawled over to one of the fallen daedra and saw a healing potion tucked into its belt. _Yes._ He pulled it out, unscrewed the lid, and tipped its contents down the man's throat. He choked a little, but Vonius saw that most of the bruises were fading. That horrid hole in his leg had closed a little, and wasn't bleeding as fiercely. He fancied that he saw the man's cuirass move as broken ribs clicked back into place and melded together.

The man's eyes opened again. He groaned.

Vonius grinned, and leaned closer.

"Can you hear me?"

----------

_yoooouuu HEAR meeee._

_Can you heeear meeee?_

_Can your hear me?_

"Can you hear me?"

Templar blinked, and found himself staring at the face of Ilend Vonius.

"Can you hear me?"

Templar winced as he replied. "Yes – ahh! How the hell did you get up here?"

"I decided to follow you."

"But-" Templar interrupted.

Vonius held up a hand. "Don't ask me why. Don't ask me how. The only thing I'll say is that it seemed like an awfully big tower for one man to climb."

_one man to climb climb climb climb-_

_----------_

"Hey. Stay awake, my friend." Vonius shook the man's shoulders gently. "We've still got to get out of here, remember?"

The man sat up violently, and quickly lay back down again as fresh blood pumped from his wound. "The Sigil Stone-"

"I know, I know," Vonius replied. "Come on. Can you walk?"

The man winced and shook his head. "No."

"Well, I'm not going back without you." Vonius stood up. "I think 'a snowballl's chance in hell' would be the appropriate expression here, wouldn't you. I'm amazed you got this far. I'm amazed _I _got this far."

Templar smiled weakly. "Snowballs can do a lot of damage if you use them well."

"Yeah. I should know. I'm from Bruma." Vonius answered. _Keep him talking, keep him talking. It'll distract him. _He looked around. "Nothing much here. Looks like I'll have to drag you. It's not far, anyway. Only ten metres or so. Then we'll be able to get you some help."

He looked down. The man was unconscious again. "Stay with me, Templar."

----------

_Shapes. Darkness. Patterns. Chaos._

_Bright, glaring light-_

"-with me."

Vonius was looking around nervously. Templar opened his mouth, but sound wouldn't come out. He felt hands clasp his shoulders and begin dragging him across a rubbery surface. Suddenly, the hands dropped him.

"Shit again."

Templar tried to prop himself up, failed, and settled with rolling over to see what the disturbance was.

It was, in fact, a group of scamps and dremora that had come running up the ramp.

"Dammit!"

"Snowball's chance in Oblivion," Templar added.

The demons quickly spread out and surrounded them, continuously edging closer. The scamps were getting ready to pounce, while the dremora were drawing their weapons.

"Think you can manage a fireball?" Vonius asked.

"I have something better. I think I can manage a snowball." Templar blinked. "Hah. Snowball."

_fire / snow / fire / snoooooowwwww..._

---------

Vonius kept edging closer to the Sigil Stone's pedestal. Templar dragged himself along behind him, grimacing with every movement. The first scamp leapt-

-and was snatched out of the air by a blow from Vonius' sword. He heard a sound behind him-

-and saw a second scamp clutch at the ice that wrapped around its head.

"Thanks," Vonius said.

"No problem. Snowballs hurt, remember?"

"Right."

"They're getting awfully close," Templar said conversationally. "I can see the saliva on their fangs,"

"Right," Vonius said again.

A third scamp charged forward, and slammed into Vonius' shield. It backed off briefly, and charged in again. Vonius ducked the slashing claws and slashed his sword-edge along the scamp's shins. It stumbled backward, before a snowball finished it off.

----------

Templar's arms felt limp as he pulled himself along. _There must be a pattern here,_ Templar thought. _Breathe, pain, drag. Breath, pain, drag._

"I've only got one more snowball in me, Ilend. I've reached the last of my energy."

"That's fine, Templar. I didn't really expect any snowballs to come from you at all."

"Good." He fired off one last ball of ice at a circling scamp. "Because I'm out."

"Just keep dragging. We're almost there." Suddenly, Vonius felt a wave of cold air waft over him. He looked to his right. "In fact, we _are_ there."

Barely a metre from his outstretched arm was the rippling Sigil Stone. It sat in its ring of fire, seeming to stare at him with none, menacing black eye.

"_Vonius!_ _Duck!"_

Ilend dropped like a stone. A dremora blade whistled over his head. He whirled and slashed downwards, but was parried by the dremora's sword. They traded blows, circling around the Sigil Stone's pedestal.

"Vonius, just grab the damn thing! The other one's coming up behind you."

"What?" Vonius blocked a wild cut with his shield, and yelled over his shoulder.

"The SIGIL STONE!" Templar roared.

Vonius leaned backwards, dodging the dremora's swing, and scored a hit on its breastplate.

"Oh. Right."

He threw his sword to the ground and stuck his hands into the flames that surrounded the stone. They were freezing cold. As he grasped the stone, he felt it dance and waver under his palms.

Vonius dived to the ground, landing beside Templar. He clutched the stone to his chest and gripped one of Templar's hands. Fire bloomed around them. Stone crashed down from the roof. Lightning flashed, sparking around the chamber. Dust filled the air as explosions rocked the foundations of the tower.

_Here we go,_ Vonius thought to himself.

_Die in shame? _Templar thought. _Hah. Die well, dremora._

Fire. Lightning. Blackness.


	16. Heir to an Empire

_Author's Note: I'm back! Again._

_I've just though of something strange. When I write a chapter, I always think of them in colour tones. For example, I think of the first three as being grey with a bit of warm yellow, the next three as grey with piercing blue and a splash of red, I think of Into Oblivion as fiery red and yellow… I'm usually happy with a chapter if I capture the tone imagine in my head._

_Of course, there are some chapters where I don't get the tone right. In A City of Dreams, I wanted my tone to be blinding white with a touch of lush greens and blues, but it ended up murky. It's the same for The Sigil Keep. I wanted it to be clear black and red but it ended up with greys and yellow added in._

_Yeah, I'm weird aren't I? Moving right along…_

_Don't worry bout Martin, he'll get nicer later. He was originally going to have a major part in this chapter (hence 'Heir to an Empire') but I cut him out so I could do all the explaining a bit later. And I want fifty reviews by the time I get to 100,000 words, you hear me? _

_As always, have fun and enjoy the chapter._

_EDIT: I may have slightly increased the number of guards, but I'm sure it doesn't matter too much._

_EDIT 2: I think I'll leave the legionnaire's rank as it is (see reviews), and just assume that city guards treat legionnaires as superiors. It shouldn't matter too much. And I've put in a more "attractive" summary, so that the story sounds a bit more exciting._

Heir to an Empire

_**The Kvatch Barricade, Mount Kvatch, The Colovian Highlands, Last Seed 30 3E433**_

_He stood silently, unmoving. He looked down at his hands; they were covered in blood. He stared past his hands; there was blood on the ground. Pools of it. He looked up. Fires raged. Buildings were burning. There was a woman, and two children. Why were they afraid? They stepped back, cowering. _

_He stepped forwards. Why were they afraid of him? Suddenly, the woman's body morphed into the shape of a demon. It raised its jet-black claws, snarled with its mouth of flame, and swung its arm, sending the children tumbling. _

"_No!" Was the voice his? He didn't know. All he knew was that he had to stop this thing, this DEMON that was killing… his children? Someone's children. He stepped forwards again, and reached out a hand-_

_----------_

An owl crooned outside, and became a black shadow that flitted across the window of the small guardhouse. The sky overhead was black with clouds, and occasional patches of pale moonlight bathed the rough, burnt ground. The remaining Kvatch guards were curled up in various positions, waiting for time to pass and for their mysterious benefactor to wake up.

Guardsman Merandil got up from his seat and walked over to the man on the bed. He was quivering in his sleep, as if in a bad dream.

"Hey. Hey!" Merandil looked at the man's face, silent and serene. "He's asleep Captain. Must be having a bad dream."

"See if you can wake him up," Captain Matius replied. "He should be almost healed. The priest did a good job."

Merandil bent over him-

"_Likkssss meeeeht…"_

The man sat up, suddenly rigid. His face had a blue tint to it. Merandil jumped backwards.

"_Likks mehht…"_

The words were hissed from his lips, an incantation that sent chills down the assembled guardsmen's spines. The candles in the room flickered eerily.

"What's he doing?" another guardsman asked, blearily rubbing his eyes as he got up from his sleeping position.

"I don't know. I don't like the look of it."

Merandil leaned closer-

"_LIKS MEHT!"_

A cold, hard hand shot out and closed around Merandil's throat. The body attached to it was as motionless as stone.

"What's he doing-"

"Get him away!"

"Merandil! What the hell's happened?"

Guardsman Merandil struggled in the man's immovable, icy grip. Captain Matius rushed over. He could swear the shadows in the room were getting bigger-

_Whoosh!_

Blackness. The candles flickered out. People stumbled in the resulting confusion. The room suddenly became very cold.

A long, shuddering, death-rattle of a breath escaped from the man's lips and echoed through the guardhouse.

"_Aaaahhhhhhh…"_

"Vonius! _GET SOME GODDAMNED MATCHES AND LIGHT SOME GODDAMNED CANDLES!_" Matius roared.

There was some quick scrabbling in the darkness. Light flared. Vonius rushed over to the nearest candle and lit it hurriedly, burning his fingers in the process.

"Where the hell is he?"

----------

_The demon screamed. He shook at the force of it. There was blackness everywhere. He lashed out at anything, anyone._

_Suddenly, his vision cleared. It was springtime, and blossoms floated on the breeze. _

_A voice came from behind him. "Templar?"_

_He whirled. There was a woman, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. _

"_Who are you?" he asked curiously. He had some memories of blood, and burning, but he couldn't quite recall them, not in this idyllic place._

"_Oh, don't be silly," the woman chided. She ran towards him, arms open. The last thing he felt was her warm, golden touch-_

_----------_

"Get back! He's in the corner!"

Captain Matius turned. Sure enough, there he was. Standing like a statue. How the hell had he got over there? Guardsman Merandil lay on the man's bed, clutching his throat and wheezing heavily.

"_Whoooo aaarreeee yyyooou?_" Long, distorted sounds came from the man's mouth.

"Don't be silly."

"Who said that?" Captain Matius yelled. "The joke isn't funny." He paused. "Wait. That was a woman's voice…"

----------

Templar opened his eyes, and closed them again as the room swirled in front of him. Where was he? Not in a village in the springtime. There were some people, standing in front of him. Black hair, Kvatch guard cuirass…

"Vonius! Captain Matius! Is this the guardhouse?" Templar said.

The guards stared at him warily. "Does anyone have any idea what the _hell_ just happened?" Matius murmured. "No? Good." He stood there for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "Welcome back, Templar. Things were a little weird for a second there, but… I don't know. Forget it."

Templar shivered. "Weird as in why I woke up standing in a corner?" He noticed that one guard was massaging his neck and looking at him strangely.

"Yes, that kind of weird," Matius sighed. "As I said, forget about it. We'll think about it in the morning, when it's not so spooky."

"Yes. Lets," Templar answered, lost for words.

"You and Vonius closed the Gate," one guardsman murmured from the back.

"We did?" Templar asked.

Vonius nodded at him. The guard at the back spoke again. "I don't know how you did it, but thanks."

"No worries. All in a day's work." He winced. "What time is it?"

"Just after midnight, Matius replied. You've been asleep for ten hours.'

"Oh." _Pain. A lashing sword. Blood that was his own. _"I remember now." He looked down at his armour. Someone had made an effort to clean the blood off, but he'd still have to get a new set. He'd left an armguard behind in Oblivion, and it was dented and punctured in several places. _Oh, well, that's what armour's for._ "Only ten hours. Wasn't I half-dead when you pulled me out? You can't heal someone that quickly."

"I don't know. There was a priest, a woman in the refugee camp. Very pretty, too. We left you with her for a couple of hours, and here you are. So she must've done something right."

"Uh-huh."

"We'll trade stories in the morning. And discuss… things," Matius said. "We've been waiting for you to wake up, actually. We've still got a siege to break."

"A city to save," someone added.

"A city that's gutted and infested with daedra," another interrupted.

"PRVATE JESAN! BE QUIET!" The rafters shook. Dust trickled from the ceiling. Matius continued, somewhat quieter. "Templar, your armour's in the cell block. The rest of you, collect your weapons and meet me outside. We've got to go and kill some bastards from Oblivion."

----------

"You ready?" Captain Matius whispered.

"Why are you asking me?" Templar answered.

"You have the most combat experience. I want you to go first."

"Me?! I didn't know how to _hold_ a sword four days ago." Templar shook his head. "It's my armour. It makes me look better than I actually am."

"Not many people can close an Oblivion Gate," Matius replied.

"I'm just supremely lucky. I would've been dead if Ilend wasn't there."

"Hmph." The guard captain thought for a bit. "You go first anyway. If you scream loud enough, maybe you can scare the daedra off."

"Okay. Whatever."

"Let's _go_, Captain! I need to piss," Jesan whispered.

"We've got a siege to break, remember?" Merandil whispered back.

"You _always _need to piss, Jesan." Captain Matius answered. "Three, two, one, HEAVE!"

Seven pairs of shoulders pushed against the heavy city gates. They began to open.

"It's – lucky that – the daedra didn't think – to bar it from the other – side," Merandil grunted.

"Shut up and push, private!"

Slowly, the gates creaked inwards.

Templar was pushed into the Kvatch Square by the milling bodies behind him. He stumbled forwards and looked for the nearest daedra.

The square was in ruins. Bonfires raged, crackling and sizzling as they devoured the houses that ringed the plaza. Peeling flakes of paint exposed the crumbled stonework of dwellings that were reduced to rubble, their roofs completely gone save for the structural beams that had long said goodbye to tiles or thatch. Skeletal trees scratched the air with their leafless branches. What were once fences were just lines of splintered wood. Debris and glowing ash were heaped in huge piles.

The cobbles of the square were streaked with blood, corpses strewn about randomly. People had been cut down as they tried to run, some beating on the city gates, some cowering in front of their homes. Worst of all, the Chapel of the Nine, the once-proud church that had towered above the city, had toppled. The entire tower had been sheared off, and now lay cracked and desolate on the ground, blocking the way to the rest of the city. The huge stained-glass windows had shattered, and the four spires had been snapped off and thrown across the square.

Six triceratops daedra were feasting on the mutilated corpses of Kvatch citizens. One paused, half-way through tearing a woman's arm off, and looked at them with beady eyes.

"Kill the bastards!"

"Yeah!"

The guards rushed forward, eager to get revenge. Jesan and another stayed back at the gates and drew their bows. Templar charged forwards with the others, the two guards' arrows whizzing past them.

One daedra screamed as one arrow sliced across its side, and as another clattered off its bony frill. Captain Matius was beside him, and sprinted ahead. He smashed into the first triceratops, chopping one of its forearms off with a sweep of his sword. Templar stumbled aside as a demon lunged at him, claws outstretched. It landed behind him, skidding across the smooth stone, before Vonius cut a deep gash along its back. Merandil yelled out as a claw pierced his cuirass, and slashed back at the attacking daedra's head. The sword dug a deep furrow into its frill, but it suddenly threw its head forward and wrenched Merandil's sword from his grip. Another Kvatch guard rushed in, keeping the triceratops at bay with wide swings of his axe. Vonius ran off to pursue a daedra that had taken cover in the smoking ruins of a bookshop.

And then it was over. Six daedra lay dead on the stone.

"Kenith, go and help Merandil bandage his wound," Matius said. "We were lucky to escape with only one injury." He paused. "Let's check the church. See if there are any survivors from the attack."

_A whole city of this?_ Templar thought to himself.

They trudged over to the heavy doors of the chapel, trying not to look at the bodies of the people that had tried to escape.

Captain Matius walked up to the doors with the heavy tread of an executioner. He banged on them with the hilt of his sword, the harsh sound shockingly loud in the deserted city.

"This is the Kvatch Guard. If there are any survivors inside, open the doors."

The guards waited nervously. Jesan fiddled with his bow, twanging the string.

"Jesan, _stop that_," Vonius hissed. "It's _annoying_."

The only sound was the crackle of flames, and the crash of falling timbers in the distance.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a bolt being drawn back. The doors opened a fraction; a dirty face peered out from between them.

"Boy, are we glad to see you. Thank the Gods you've come."

Matius began grinning like a madman. Corporal Kenith gave a soft cheer.

"Glad to. How many survivors are there?"

The face frowned. "Not as many as you might have hoped. But come in. It's safer inside."

The inside of the chapel was dark, lit only by the light of flickering candles, and the stars that could be seen through the broken roof.

They were standing on a slightly raised section that looked down the hall and to the far end of the chapel. Stone pillars held up the vaulted roof that towered ten metres above them, and two side passages lined either side of the main chamber, containing small shrines to each of the nine gods of Cyrodiil. A stairway sloped downwards in front of them, leading to the chapel undercroft. The stain-glass windows, each depicting a noble likeness of one of the Nine, had a sinister air in the darkness.

Rubble from the fallen spire was littered on the ground. Pews had been dragged out of the way to create a space where people could rest, and tattered rugs and dirty bedrolls were scattered around the central aisle to create some semblance of comfort on the cold flagstones. Barrels and crates had been piled up in the corners. The sacred altar was now a bed for the wounded, and the altar cloths were stained with blood.

There were less than two dozen people in the Chapel, each in varying states of tiredness or despair. Bruised faces and dirty clothes greeted the Kvatch guards as they moved silently among the survivors.

"Only twenty. Twenty survivors from a city of how many… Five thousand? Ten thousand? I don't know." Matius looked over the hall, dismayed.

The man that had greeted them sighed. "Only twenty," he whispered.

There was a sudden shout from the altar. "No. No! This can't happen!"

Templar looked up. It was a young man, in a priest's robes. He shook one of the injured frantically. A candle was knocked to the floor, rolling through the pews.

"No! You can't die…"

"Make that nineteen," a woman murmured. "No matter how hard you try, you can't save them all…"

_Could it be?_

"There are two of your guards down the back here. They're making an inventory of our supplies – just in case we had to hold out, you know – and disposing of a …creature… that managed to get through the window."

Captain Matius turned. "Jesan, take Kenith, Raymond and Merandil and see if you can help. Vonius, Templar – come with me."

Templar followed Matius into one of the side passages. Two Kvatch guards, a woman and a man, were standing over the body of a triceratops daedra. "I never thought I'd see a live Clannfear with my own eyes, much less have to kill one."

_So that's what the damn things are called. Clannfears. Clan? Fear? Doesn't make much sense to me._

"-least we did kill it. Imagine what could have happened."

"Lets not." The female guard turned. Her eyes widened. "Captain Matius! Ilend! How did you get in here?"

""We closed an Oblivion Gate and cleared the city square. Now don't say that your Captain's an old bastard ever again."

She smiled. "I won't. Tierra Rilian, reporting SIR! What do you want to know?"

"Is this all of you?"

"Yes. We're all that's left. Berich Inian, myself, and these civilians."

"That's it? There's no one else?" Matius asked desperately.

"Yes. Sorry, sir."

"Damn it! I can't believe we let the entire city be slaughtered!" he yelled out.

"There were others, Captain… but they refused to stay put. We tried to convince them it was dangerous, but they wouldn't listen. I guess they're dead now."

"Solider, why didn't you stop them? Why didn't you get a GRAIN of common sense into your skull and stop them from LEAVING?"

"Sir – I mean, we _couldn't_-"

"Tierra, just be quiet. The area outside the Chapel has been cleared. These people need to be taken to safety. Escort them to the refugee camp, _now_. Though I doubt that you can handle even that simple duty."

The woman's shoulders slumped. "Yes, sir."

"Captain, don't you think that you're being a bit-" Vonius interrupted.

Matius sighed. "I'm sorry. I just got a little angry, that's all. We'll wait here. Once you've finished, come back and join us. We'll need every fighting man – or woman – we can get."

Tierra turned to the milling survivors. "People! Get your things. We're getting out of here!"

There was a ragged cheer. People began to gather the meager possessions they still had.

"That could have gone better," Vonius said sarcastically.

"I know." Matius sighed again.

An awkward silence descended.

_Wait. Martin?_

"Captain Matius. Is that Brother Martin over there?" Templar pointed over to the later, where the young priest was giving the dead a final farewell.

"Yes. That's Martin." The Captain paused. "He's had a bad day, by the looks of things. What do you want him for, anyway?"

Templar kept his face open. "Nothing much. It's an errand."

He stepped out of the passageway and carefully walked over to the kneeling priest.

"Hey."

Martin looked up.

Templar looked at the long brown hair, high cheekbones, and the serious, deep blue eyes that were like a well just waiting to be fallen in to. _You can sort of see the resemblance…_ "You Martin?"

"Yes."

The voice was clear, with a slight resonance that made it distinctive. Templar was suddenly lost for words as he remembered exactly _who_ he was talking to.

"What would you say if told you that you were the Emperor's illegitimate son?" Templar winced inwardly as the words came tumbling out. _Nice one._

"I would say that you were crazy, and that I have little time for idle chatter," Martin replied frostily. "Now, I have a job to do. So do you, I suspect." He walked off, to tend to an injured Argonian.

"That could have gone better," Vonius said, silently walking up behind him.

Templar whirled. "What?! Did you hear what I said?"

"No, but he did look a bit miffed," Vonius replied.

There was a sudden thump. It came from one of the thick doors at the far end of the chapel, the same one that the guardsmen had centered through. There was another thump, the thump a gauntleted fist makes when it bangs on a door.

"Survivors! Open up! This is Lieutenant Luthar of the Imperial Legion!"

The door was hurriedly unbarred. In walked three Imperial Legionnaires, soldiers of the Cyrodiil Army. They each wore a full suit of rugged legion armour, and had steel weapons and shields belted to their waists. The lieutenant, the tallest of the three, called out. "Who's in charge here?"

Captain Matius stepped forward, ignoring the awed gazes and shushed whispers of the civilians. "I am, sir. As you can see, we've closed the Oblivion Gate, and have taken up residence in the Chapel. We'll be glad to have the Legion's help."

"An _Oblivion Gate_? Here?" the legionnaire asked. "I suppose it's the only explanation for what happened. I can't describe how I felt when I turned the corner and saw Kvatch burning on the hilltop…"

"At least you weren't there, sir."

"I wish I was. Maybe we could have saved some more... Anyway, we're just a regular patrol. The rest of the Empire has no idea about what's happened. I can only hope that someone saw the fires and has gone to tell the Anvil guards, or Skingrad or something-"

"I sent two guards to Anvil at around midday, before we'd closed the Gate. If they moved quickly, they have just reached the outskirts. They might be on their way back if they managed to get horses."

"That's too long," Luthar replied tersely. "We can't wait. We'll have to do it alone. Just in case someone's still alive. It may be unwise, but we'll have to."

"I agree, sir. As soon as these people are out of here, we have to try and get to the castle. I didn't believe we'd even get this far, so maybe we have a fighting chance."

"Let us hope, Captain. Ten minutes?"

"Yes, sir."

----------

They stood around the chapel door. The guards and legionnaires thought their own thoughts, contemplating a disaster on a scale previously unseen in Cyrodiil. They thought of the people who'd died, the people who'd survived, the things they had done or had ever wanted to do. Templar thought about his past, and his all-too-brief memories of it. Of the new existence he'd made for himself over the past few days.

In the silence, Matius turned to him. "We're not done. Not even close. You've come this far with us; will you go further? If we're truly going to succeed, we'll need the man" – he nodded at Vonius – "men, who closed an Oblivion Gate. What we've seen so far is nothing. What _you've_ seen so far is nothing compared to the battle that awaits us. Are you with us?"

Templar smiled. "I'm with you. As an adventurer, as a comrade-in-arms, and as a friend."

Matius turned to the assembled group of ragtag would-be saviours. "ARE YOU WITH ME?" he called out.

"We're with you, Captain," lieutenant Luthar answered. There was a soft rustle as the guardsmen and legionnaires nodded.

There was a quiet drumming on the roof as a light rain began to fall. Droplets glistened on the floor under the gaping hole in the chapel roof.

"Then let's go, people. We've got a city to save."


	17. Breaking a Siege

_Author's Note: It's just occurred to me how honestly one-dimensional this is when compared to more complex, better stories on the internet. When I started this at the beginning of the year, there were only 50 Oblivion fanfics and only two or three novelisations. But now that number has quintupled, and some truly talented writers have begun their own works. _

_To make myself feel better, I'm decided that the purpose of my story is to be fun. It's a bit like a Matthew Reilly thriller or a Terry Pratchett novel – you read them, enjoy them, and forget about them. So, that's the official purpose of my book – although I hope to make it a bit more meaningful than that._

_And I fully sympathise with Ronald D. Moore (creator of the excellent re-imagined Battlestar Galactica) when he says "it's hard to keep action scenes interesting when you do a lot of them."_

_One last note: Templar's gone into a bit of a non-humour mode at the moment, but that's alright considering his situation. Maybe it'll be back once he's got Martin with him… _

_EDIT: I've realised that I've lost track of one guard – there should only be eleven, not twelve as it says in the chapter. Shouldn't matter too much, but just in case anyone notices. I've also lost track of Templar's shield, but I think it got lost in Oblivion._

_EDIT 2: I have also realised that I've used the name of one of my reviewers (Llarian) for of the legionnaires (because I thought their in-game names were a bit weird). It's purely accidental, but I thought I should mention it._

Breaking a Siege

_**The Ruins of Kvatch, Mount Kvatch, The Colovian Highlands, Last Seed 30 3E433**_

They stepped out into the driving rain, ready for whatever Oblivion wanted to throw at them. Rippling flames were reflected on the rain-slicked cobbles, shimmering as droplets thwacked into the ground. The statue of Antus Pinder, the Kvatch general who had led a hopeless defence in the face of grave defeat, seemed to give them an ironic salute from his pedestal in the centre of the square.

_You led a small group of men against a force of thousands. You salute us, as if you know we are venturing forth in your spirit. You were defeated, yet you have a statue to honour your courage for all eternity. I wonder, will we get a statue if we fail?_

_I wonder, will I get a large penis graffitied onto my head?_

Templar grinned briefly as he saw what was inscribed on the statue's stonework.

The looming hulk of Castle Kvatch towered across the open plaza before them, its crenellated battlements and squat towers standing tall in the storm. It was surrounded by a deep moat that flowed under the castle's drawbridge. More spindly trees speared the sky with clawed branches, silhouetted by fires as smoke billowed around them.

The fallen spire lay to their left, desolate among the ruins. Battered guard towers lined the walls that could be seen on the far side of the fallen city, and they were now silent sentries to a wasteland of blackened remains.

"Oh my god."

One of the guards let out an involuntary shudder as they looked out over the city. All that could be seen for half-a-mile in every direction was beyond repair. Bodies lay in the streets as daedra ran wild through alleys and gardens, feasting or burning or looting. Blackened timbers, crumbling walls, twisted metal. Few buildings had been left standing, and most had only a few walls remaining. Some were burnt to a cinder, or had been heaped into piles of debris.

They were staring out over a wasteland. A wasteland of half-constructed buildings that had been burned, demolished or flooded, their occupants slaughtered mindlessly by a cruel, merciless enemy.

"You never used to be able to see the walls from here. But now you can, because… because nothing tall enough to block your view has been left standing."

As the fires raged, crackling and hissing in the rain, Templar was overcome by a terrible sense of despair.

----------

Three dead scamps later, and everyone was feeling a little better. They were standing around Pinder's statue, and one guard was carving his name into it with his sword.

"We'll have to be careful. There must be a thousand daedra roaming the city, and we don't want to attract attention. So what the hell do we do?" Lieutenant Luthar slid his sword back into its sheath and surveyed the group.

Captain Matius answered. "We can't go on a rescue mission. It's just impossible. But we can check the castle, maybe see if anyone else holed up in there. Besides the chapel, it looks like it's the only large building left standing."

"And we can see if the count is still alive."

Matius nodded. There was a pause.

"It's basically the only thing we can do to help at the moment. So that's what we'll do. Men, form up. I don't want anyone getting… lost."

"And remember what we're here for," Matius added. "Pinder's statue has had enough abuse. I don't think he would've liked seeing his city destroyed."

The guard stopped cutting guiltily.

"As someone said…" Luthar murmured distantly. "…not all is fair in the art of war…"

The Kvatch guards and Legionnaires walked across the slippery plaza, their booted feet not allowing much purchase in the rain.

Soon, they reached the first gatehouse that defended the bridge. The group walked under the arch silently, the shadow passing over them.

_Claaanngg! _"Ah, _sh--!_"

"What the hell was that-"

"It was a f—king arrow that pierced my f—king shoulder!"

"Shields up!"

"Jesan, Kenith, shoot _back_ for Akatosh's sake-"

Two dremora archers were perched atop the castle walls, getting ready to fire.

_Twanngggg!_

Corporal Kenith shot off an arrow that sliced past one dremora's face. It recoiled briefly just as it fired, sending its arrow down into the moat.

"Corporal Kenith, I have seen you do better while hanging upside-down from the roof in your _underwear_-" Matius yelled out as he ducked behind his shield. Templar began to unhook his bow.

Kenith let off another arrow as Jesan fired his first, both slamming into the chest of one dremora, sending him tumbling backwards.

Templar pulled an arrow from his quiver, and let fly at the remaining archer. The arrow whizzed through the air, arcing slightly and punching into the dremora's leg. It let out a scream of pain and anger and fired down at them, the arrow thwacking straight into Vonius' shield. Jesan aimed quickly and got another arrow off that hit the dremora straight between the eyes.

"Thank you, Private Jesan. It's good to see that _someone's_ been practicing." He paused. "And, just for that, you can get the arrow out of Tierra's shoulderguard."

Templar slung his bow back across his back. Kenith put on a sulky expression.

"Damn. The gate's barred."

Matius was right. A heavy iron portcullis blocked their way into the castle keep.

"What do we do now, Captain?" Luthar asked. "It's your city."

Matius winced as he looked out over the ruins. "Don't remind me." He stopped, thinking. "I left Berich Inian in the Chapel as a rearguard. It's our only means of getting out of the city, after all. He'll also help any civilians that go to the Chapel for sanctuary. Now, he has the key to the north guardhouse, part of which leads under the wall. You can bypass the gates completely and get inside the castle using that passage."

"That's if the daedra haven't found it yet," Lieutenant Luthar said unhappily.

"Or, we can go through the sewer pipe that empties out into the moat. It winds its way under the castle and up to a grate in the main courtyard. That's probably a safer but less …sanitary way."

"Could you scale the walls?" one Legionnaire asked.

"Yes. I'm not volunteering though. Anyway," he continued, "either way, you can unlock the gate from the inside."

----------

_If you've had enough of sewers, pick the guardhouse and go to Block 1._

_If you've had enough of secret passages, pick the sewers and go to Block 2._

_If you've had enough of both, go to Block 3._

_Author's Note: If you want to, you can read all three blocks. They're all quite different, and you should get a bit more 'reading value.'_

----------

1

"I think the guardhouse passage would be the most appropriate, Captain. It's the most straightforward, and time is a luxury that we do not have."

"There's also the matter of the lucky two that get to go and be the gate-openers."

"Yes. Any volunteers?"

There was silence.

"So be it. Hands in, everyone." The guards formed a huddle and each one stuck a fist into the centre. Lieutenant Luthar began mumbling something under his breath. "…_catch a daedroth by the toe…_"

"…_if it yells, let it go…_"

And run the hell away, Templar added silently.

Finally, the Lieutenant's eyes settled on an unfortunate legionnaire. He looked him up and down disapprovingly. "And my mother says that you, private, are it. Even though she is dead." He paused.

"…_eeny meeny miny moe…_"

----------

And so it was that Templar found himself trudging back towards the Chapel, in the company of a legionnaire he now knew as Avarran.

"So… you been in the army long?" Templar began.

"Not really. Couple of years. Just came back from a posting out in Hammerfell."

"Great. Was it fun?"

_Fun? Of course it wasn't fun, you idiot! He kills people for a living, for Akatosh's sake._

"Nah, not really. Pretty boring. Not much happening up there at the moment. Morrowind is where most of the legions have gone. Uprisings and things."

"Great," he said again.

"How about you?" Avarran asked.

"Me? I haven't been doing much, lately. Just sitting around." _In a jail cell._ "I've actually come from the Imperial City to see a priest here." _Don't ask why. Please._

"Uh-huh." Avarran turned back to his own thoughts, whistling tunelessly. He looked back across the square, where the other ten guards were waiting by the gate and staring at their backs.

"Well, here's the door." Templar knocked loudly. "Open please."

One door was pulled inwards. Berich Inian looked at them in surprise. "Back so soon?"

"Not yet. You know the key to the north guardhouse?" He nodded. "Well, we need to get in so we can unlock the castle gate. The Captain said you could show us the way."

"Oh. Right." He rummaged around in the darkness behind the door, and came up holding a softly glinting key. "Here. We'll have to go through the Chapel crypt to access the rest of the city. Follow me."

"Looks like we're in for a hard time," Avarran muttered.

"Yeah."

They stepped into the warmth of the Chapel, Avarran pulling the door closed behind him. Berich began to make his way down the steps to the crypt. "Now, it's dark down there, even during the day, so if you could carry some torches with you, that'd be good." He pulled one of the torches that lit the stairs out from its bracket, throwing ghostly shadows across the walls. Templar and Avarran did the same.

The key slotted into the lock with a ghostly _click!_ The door swung open, stale air washing over them.

"And down we go," Berich said glumly.

They stepped into the pillared caverns of the undercroft, threading their way to the exit at the other end. Stone coffins lay in alcoves in the walls, peaceful faces carved upon their marble surfaces. There was a musty odour that Templar thought all crypts must have, seeped into the walls from the decomposing bodies that had lain there over the centuries.

Suddenly, Berich cried out. "Scamp!"

Templar whirled, his torch flaring. Three scamps had been crouched in the shadows between the pillars. Their beady eyes glowed brightly in the darkness.

"Ready!"

"Watch out for the pillars!"

Templar felt horribly unprotected without a shield in front of him. A big bit of metal between you and the enemy could be awfully comforting.

Berich was already charging through the columned hall, a weaving and bobbing island of light. Avarran stood his ground a couple of metres away, his torch seeming pitifully small. _Right. I've done this so many times that I've almost lost count_, Templar thought. _Why the hell am I still scared? _

Suddenly, all three scamps veered off towards Berich. Templar could see him fending the first one off, unable to swing his sword in the confined area.

"Oh, what the hell." Avarran ran forwards to help Berich, leaving Templar alone in the blackness.

Templar watched as the Kvatch guard ducked and weaved between the pillars. _Oh, what the hell. _He began thumping his way towards the fight, trying to keep his torch alight.

One scamp was bleeding from a cut in the shoulder, while Berich was beginning to stumble a little. Avarran reached the fight, and one scamp snarled and broke off to face the new threat. He lashed out with his torch, drawing a fiery trail in the air and making the scamp retreat slightly from the heat. It shrieked as embers lashed across its face. There was a shower of sparks as Berich scraped his sword along a pillar.

Templar was just about to run up and whack the third scamp over the head when Berich scored a lethal blow, cutting half-way into the daedra's stomach. It keeled over, blood pooling around the wound.

_Dammit! You stole my-_

Templar settled for fireballing the other scamp in the back, sending it flying forwards. It smacked into the ground soon afterwards and skidded to a stop. Berich stomped on its head to make sure.

Avarran was still battling with the remaining daedra. It circled around him warily, and swiftly noticed that it was now three onto one. The scamp hissed furiously and ducked away, scampering – _true to their name,_ Templar thought – towards the exit.

"Let it go," Berich said tiredly. "We'll get it soon enough."

It turned and glared at them one last time before disappearing up the steps.

"Seriously, stuff this," Avarran said into the emptiness. "This is _not_ what I get paid for."

"Yeah, but it's what you're gonna have to do," Berich replied. "And a lot more besides."

"Shut up, you two." Templar sighed. "We knew it wasn't going to be easy, alright? We've just got to make it to the guard tower. How far is it, Berich?"

"Oh, a quarter-of-a-mile or so."

"_What?_" Templar exclaimed.

"See what I mean?" Avarran replied. "And you're not even getting paid for it, are you."

"Let's just go. If we stick to the side streets, we might avoid most of the daedra." Berich to walk across the stone, not bothering to glance backwards.

"Come on, Avarran. We can make this fun, right?" Templar asked hopefully. "How 'bout we keep a kill count. I'm one, you're zero."

Avarran glowered at him. "Shut up."

----------

Thunder rumbled overhead as they emerged. The city was briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning. They were in a small courtyard with a well in the centre, surrounded by ruined houses. The far end of the courtyard opened up into a narrow street that wound its way through the rest of the city, some of which could be seen through the demolished walls and gardens that surrounded them. One double-storey house to their right was burning, the flames darting out through the roof.

_- a flash of fire – _

_- a red-robed body – _

_- a sparkling pendant lying on a frail chest – _

_- a woman, wreathed in blue fire – _

Templar blinked as he fastened his torch to his belt. That was the first hallucination he'd had in a while. Maybe he was getting better, and could recover his past when this was all over…

He could see three scamps milling around the well, with another two clannfears patrolling the street at the far end. Another bolt of lightning suddenly outlined everything in its stark white light.

The north guard tower could just be seen through the rain, a murky silhouette looming ominously in the haze.

"Damn. There's more of them."

"Yep."

"Any plans?"

"Kill as many as you can."

The scamps noticed them as Avarran and Berich began to walk down the chapel steps. Templar hung back and drew his bow.

He shot an arrow at the closest scamp and winced as it went in completely the wrong direction and glanced of Avarran's elbow. "Sorry."

"Could someone take that thing away from him? He might hurt himself," Avarran said sarcastically as he continued to advance.

_Right. Aim, fire and don't let your hand slip this time._

He was quite satisfied to see his next arrow strike the scamp in the chest. The other two seemed to break out of their stupor and charged at Berich and Avarran, shooting fireballs furiously. The two clannfears on the street turned their heads at the sudden noise and began to run.

Berich jumped backwards to dodge a fireball and swung at one scamp, which clawed back furiously.

_Dammit – clannfears – aim – fire – miss –_

Templar cursed as his first arrow missed one of the clannfears by a hair. It raced past the third scamp and leapt at Avarran. He ducked, letting the daedra fly over his head, and slashed upwards with his sword. A long cut sliced down its belly, blood pouring out in heavy drops.

Templar pulled another arrow from his quiver and aimed at Berich's scamp, which was dancing around madly as the Kvatch guard attacked.

He released, and the arrow plunged into the daedra's neck, red liquid spurting from the pierced artery. Berich staggered backwards and covered his eyes as the blood sprayed across his face, the daedra slowly collapsing to the ground.

Templar reached for another arrow, but his fingers closed on air. He groped around desperately. He twisted his neck, trying to look behind him.

"Dammit!" No arrows. _I should've noticed sooner. Or at least I could have picked up my old ones. _He stood there frustratedly, annoyed by his own lack of attention.

As he watched, Avarran took care of his scamp and started attacking the remaining clannfear. Berich ran to his side. And then Templar began to notice a burning sensation in his back, turned around and thought _where the hell did you two come from?_

Two scamps had emerged from a side alley. One had just thrown a fireball at him – _which barely missed, luckily, but it's still freaking hot – _and was now about to claw his face to pieces.

Templar leaned backwards as long claws raked his helmet, spinning it slightly so he couldn't see. The gap in the front for his eyes was now around his left ear or thereabouts, and he was staring at a sweaty curve of metal. He realised he was still holding his bow, gripped it with two hands and lashed out wildly, miraculously managing to hit something. The wood vibrated as it struck – _bone?_ s_tone? _– and Templar scrabbled at his helmet, managing to turn it sufficiently so that he could see with one eye, and swung again, staggering as he tripped down a couple of steps. The bow swished through empty air. Suddenly, he noticed a flash of movement. Templar raised one arm and shot off a frostball, only to see the figure step aside and gesture at him rudely.

He turned his helmet fully and stared at the grinning faces of his two companions. The scamp lay on the ground in front of him, skull slightly caved in.

"Classy."

"Funniest thing I've seen in ages."

"And he almost hit me with a f—king ball of ice."

Templar sighed. "Did you manage to kill the other two?"

"Obviously," replied Berich, rolling his eyes. "We didn't want to help you, though. It was too much fun watching. In all my years, I've never seen _anyone_ do that."

"Alright, alright," Templar said irritably. "Kill count, then."

"Just shut up, Templar," Avarran answered.

"I have three," Berich volunteered.

"That means Avarran has two, and I have four. I hate to say it, but I'm winning." Templar smiled at them.

"Could you just be _serious_ for a minute," Avarran interrupted. "The other guards are waiting for us back there."

"Oh. Right," Berich said, his good spirits disappearing.

"And we still have Akatosh-knows how many still between us and the tower."

"Yes, well. We'd better get going then." Templar began walkingtowards the street.

Avarran and Berich soon followed.

The street was lined with the same montage of burning houses and fallen towers and rubble, the endless rain trickling across the ground. The road was blocked with fallen crossbeams at both ends, and the thick city wall was barely visible in the distance. Templar found himself walking through what had once been someone's living room. Another three scamps were rummaging around in the ruins around fifty metres away.

"Let's go." Berich led the way towards the scamps, keeping to the shadows. He peered above a low stone wall.

"I'll take the closest one. Templar, you take the one with the cut, and Avarran can kill the one in the house. Okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, he rushed towards the first scamp. Templar and Avarran followed close behind, racing down the street. Berich reached his scamp and quickly cut it down while Avarran dodged the claws of the other. Templar flinched as a fireball flew past him and shoulder-charged the third daedra, sending it flying, and summoning up a frostball while it was on the ground.

After resting for a moment, Avarran asked "Where do we go now? The street's blocked off. There's a side lane, but it leads away from the guard tower."

Berich smiled. "We could always go through the houses." He began picking his way through the debris and cautiously entered one relatively intact building.

"Hello? Anyone?" There was silence. "Thought not. Come on. This should lead to the base of the wall."

Templar ducked his head and stepped into the entrance hall. It was surprisingly light, but there was a full moon overhead and the glow of countless fires to help. Everything was eerily intact in the gloom – paintings still hung on the walls, there was a meal on the table, half-open books were scattered around – it was almost like stepping into another world, free from the horrors of the real one.

There was a clatter as something feel to the ground, deafening in the silence. "Sorry," Avarran mumbled. He paused. "It's like everything's back to normal. Like the city's still there outside. Like everyone's still alive." He peered through a shuttered window, just to make sure.

Berich moved past a staircase and into a study. A man was sitting at a desk, quill in hand, poised above a yellowing sheet of parchment.

"What? – oh." Dried blood was splattered all over the chair and floor, from a gigantic wound in the man's side.

"Let's get out of here," Templar said quietly. _Let's get out of the whole damn city._

"Yes. Let's," Berich shuddered.

They moved through another doorway. The next room was empty save for a fireplace and a few chairs. There was a door at the back, which presumably led out to the street.

Berich tried it. The handle wouldn't move. Avarran strode forward and kicked it heavily, making it tremble. He kicked it again. Something snapped, and the door fell from its hinges onto the dirt outside, raising a puff of dust. The crash as it hit was alarmingly loud.

They had emerged into a long alleyway that opened up into a small square. It led uphill, and was covered with mud and rubbish. The stars gleamed overhead. At the far end, Templar could see a mess of strangely-angled pillars, dead trees and huge, carved blocks of stone that lay in front of the wall.

The three men began jogging towards the exit. Templar cursed as he slipped in a pile of muck. Half a minute later, Berich raised a hand. They stopped, waiting. Berich looked around the corner.

"Two scamps."

Templar crept forward a little. The next area was an open circular space surrounded by a two-metre stone wall, that looked as if it had been an arena of some sort. The toppled stone pillars and cracked stone blocks Templar had seen from the alley were absolutely huge up close, and may have been part of - A temple? A council hall? A theatre? - before the attack. There was a large stone circle on the ground in the centre of the space, covered with a thick metal grille that dripped with blood. Dead bodies were tied to short columns that ringed the circle.

The two scamps had obviously tortured their prisoners, as each had fingers missing or large gashes or burnt patches on their skin. Now, the daedra were poking the corpses maliciously. As Templar watched, one tore off a piece of flesh and began to eat it, hissing deliriously.

"Kill the f—kers." Berich ran out with an almighty scream and cut the first scamp down in the back, then viciously kicking at its head when it fell to the ground. He killed the other with a vicious upwards cut that opened its abdomen and almost cut it in half, entrails spilling out onto the floor. He kicked it off his sword and stood there vacantly.

"Hey. Berich." Templar walked up and patted him on the shoulder. The guard whirled around and stared at him.

"The whole city. The whole damn city. Just think of the suffering. Just think of everything that has been lost..."

"All the better reason to kill the bastards, isn't it," Avarran replied. "Come on. They're counting on us back there."

"Why couldn't everyone have come? Why did they just choose three?" Berich asked hopelessly.

"I don't know, but who cares. We're here, and we're saving whoever's holed up in the castle."

"Oh, yes, the castle... may still be alive..." The guard fell to his knees. "Just let me catch my breath."

"Sure."

They waited for an indeterminate moment, alone but for the crackle of fires and occasional scream in the distance.

"Alright. Let's go." Berich led the way once again. One street led out of the west section of the circle. One huge blaze roared at the T-junction at the end, devouring a tall, rickety building and leaving nothing but charred stone.

"I'm amazed that nothing came to investigate the scream," Templar said. "It was pretty ferocious, you know."

"Probably thought I was one of them," Berich answered.

Avarran grunted something in reply. They climbed over a few beams that fallen across the street.

"Down here, turn right, and we should be at the tower. It's amazing, you know. This used to be one of the prettiest areas of the city," the Kvatch guard said in a melancholy way.

The three were walking downhill, coming ever closer to their goal. Suddenly, Templar noticed a frilled head on top of one of the buildings beside them.

"Clannfear!"

Berich and Avarran drew their swords quickly, and formed back-to-back triangle with Templar. One clannfear leapt down from a house to their right and landed in front of them with a thud. It snarled.

"Take this," Templar muttered. He wreathed a snake of fire around his arm, which hissed and writhed in the rain, and shot it at the clannfear.

"Jump right! Jump _right!_" Avarran shouted. Templar looked up, and saw a shadow dropping towards him with claws outstretched. He dived sideways with Berich and Avarran, feeling the rush of air as a claw raked past his neck. Avarran began to engage the new clannfear when Templar felt the wind knocked out of him as a bony head butted him in the chest. He slid backwards across the wet ground. Suddenly, he felt hot breath on his face and found himself staring into the beaked mouth of a clannfear. He raised his arms-

And the clannfear flew off him, half-decapitated by Berich's trusty longsword.

"Thanks," Templar wheezed as tried to get up.

"No problem," Berich replied.

_A daedra - behind Berich - doesn't know - no time_

Suddenly, Templar hurled his sword point-first past Berich's shoulder, spearing the clannfear that had been creeping up behind him in the chest. It stood for a moment, stunned, and then fell to the ground.

"Good throw," Berich said, grinning. He reached his hand out towards Templar, who grasped it and pulled himself to his feet. At the edge of his vision, he saw Avarran swing at the last clannfear, which twisted aside and clawed back. It managed to scrap his armguards as it slashed past, when Avarran swept his sword low, cutting across its legs. The clannfear shrieked and tried to leap towards the legionnaire, but he blocked it with his shield and calmly killed it.

He looked at them. "Shall we continue?" He paused. "Oh, wait." Avarran ran off to the side, into one of the houses. There was the sound of a scuffle, and a scream that was quickly cut off.

"What the _hell_ is he doing?" Berich asked.

Then Avarran returned, wiping his sword. "Just a scamp. Nothing to be worried about. I think it was going to ambush us with the clannfears."

"Uh-huh," Templar replied. "Oh, well. We're almost there."

They walked down the rest of the street, keeping their eyes peeled for any more daedra. The area was eerily empty.

"And it's still bloody raining," Avarran said to nobody in particular.

Finally, they reached then end. Their was a small garden of some sort, which was now black and burnt, with several more routes branching off it.

There was one wide street to the right which Berich led them down. He paused as he turned the corner.

"Oh, thank Akatosh."

There was the north guard tower, apparently undamaged. The stone walls were still relatively smooth, and the door was open. Templar could see some candles flickering inside.

_Thwump!_

And that was when a black-feathered arrow punched straight through Berich's chest.

_Author's Note: Sorry to cut you off like this, but otherwise this chapter would be a little too long. Remember which path you choose, because you'll be given the option again at the beginning of the next chapter, when it's released. _

----------

2

_Author's Note: I'm sorry for using the word 'skitter' repeatedly in a probably annoying way, but I think it's the best word to use. And this has absolutely _nothing_ to do with Aliens (the movie)._

"I think the sewer would be the best option," Lieutenant Luthar decided. "It's also the safest, and we can't afford to lose any men on this mission."

"I agree, Lieutenant. Now we have to choose who goes. I will, of course, as I'm the only one with knowledge of the tunnels."

"Yes. Any other volunteers?"

_Not likely,_ Templar thought.

"Well then." The Lieutenant looked skyward for a moment. "Avarran, you can go. I believe that Llarian did the dirty work last time."

Templar saw Captain Matius shake his head and fume silently, sending raindrops flying. "…_dirty work_… Let's go. I gave all of the keys to Berich in the Chapel, so we'll head there first."

Matius began to walk back across the square, the legionnaire known as Avarran in tow. He stopped suddenly, and turned. "Templar, you'd better come too. I only have the key for the entrance, and sometimes the other gates are locked. So we might need your… assistance." He looked meaningfully at Templar's belt.

"Ah." Templar saw his lockpicks, hanging there innocently. "Yes."

"We'll call it 'used for assisting a guardsman in the line of duty.'"

The Captain began walking again. Templar glanced over at Lieutenant Luthar, who was staring at him with a puzzled expression. "Dammit," he muttered, and began jogging after them.

_Has he forgotten that I closed his Oblivion Gate for him? And broken into his damn city?_

As he pulled up beside the pair, Matius grinned at him. "Don't look at me like that, Templar. I genuinely want your help."

"Really?" Templar asked sarcastically.

"It's just that Lieutenant Luthar over there doesn't trust you very much. Says he's seen you somewhere before. So I didn't want to tell him that I actually liked you."

"Oh."

They'd reached the Chapel steps. Matius walked up them quickly and rapped on the doors. "Open up. It's the Captain."

Slowly, one door swung inwards. The worried face of Berich Inian peered out at them. "Back already?"

"The castle gate's locked," the Captain replied. "We'll need to go through the sewers and unlock it from the inside."

"Ah. Right." The Kvatch guard lifted a keyring from his belt and examined it thoughtfully. "…_not this one, not this one, not this one…_ This one." He took a rather unremarkable-looking key and handed it to Captain Matius. "That's the key for the moat gate. The gates inside should all be unlocked."

"Great. Thanks, Private. Now…" Matius paused. "I think you should go down and wait with the others. I don't think we're going to get any civilians coming to the Chapel anymore. If they do, well, they'll probably see us waiting down by the gate."

"As you wish, Captain. Should I leave the outer doors unlocked, just in case any survivors need shelter from the other side?"

"That might be a good idea, Private. Just in case."

The Kvatch guardsman disappeared inside. Templar heard the sound of candles being blown out, and the other door being pushed open slightly. As he stepped outside, Templar saw that the fires were slowly dying away as the rain cleansed the city. But the moon still cast a silvery light over everything as it passed between patches of thick grey cloud.

"There." Berich joined them, closing the door behind him.

"Okay. Let's get back to the others."

They made their way back across the central square.

"Lieutenant, we've got the key. Hopefully we'll see you in twenty minutes." Matius tried unsuccessfully to smile.

"Gods be with you, Captain," Lieutenant Luthar answered.

And so Templar, Avarran and Captain Matius began walking along the banks of the moat, the guards watching them go, until they were hidden from view by the walls of the castle.

----------

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

"M-hm."

"Let's go."

They were crouching on the bank of the moat that skirted the castle walls. The sewer opening was a large cylinder that poked out of the stone to their right, which had a steady trickle of water flowing out of it. Templar was putting on his shoulderpads again, after taking most of his armour off to swim across.

Captain Matius unlocked the sewer gate and pulled it open with a sharp creak. He peered into the darkness.

"Avarran, could you pass me your torch? Thanks."

Even with the torch, Templar could only see a few metres down the pipe before it faded into the gloom.

"Templar, you'd better light your torch as well. We'll need all the light we can get." There was a brief scrabbling sound as Templar tried to spark his torch into life. It took a few tried because of the rain, but eventually it began to sputter and flame.

"Right. Here we go, then." Matius grunted as he heaved himself up into the pipe, slipping a little on the slimy stone. After taking a few steps inside, he beckoned to them. "Come on."

Templar watched as Avarran jumped inside, and then pulled himself up into the tunnel. It was barely tall enough to stand in, and there was a constant flow of ankle-deep water.

"Now, from memory, we keep going and turn right at the second intersection." The Captain began walking, his feet sloshing through the damp. A couple of rats skittered past his feet, squealing wildly.

Templar jumped, and then relaxed. _Ah, good. The normal variety. But what were they running from?_

They passed the first intersection without incident. Suddenly, Matius stopped. "What was that?"

"What?" Templar asked. His voice echoed a bit too loudly for his liking.

"Something on the ceiling…"

Shadows danced at the boundaries of the torchlight. Templar found himself wanting to look behind him. Avarran was already glancing around, and had his hand on his sword hilt.

"Hm," Matius said quietly. "I would say it was nothing, but it's always something… that's how it goes in the books, right?"

"Yes, captain," Avarran replied. "I wish it didn't."

"Oh well, we'd better keep going. Be on your guard." The Captain stepped forwards-

_SCREEEEEEK! skitter-skitter-skitter_

"F—!"

A black shape whooshed past the ceiling above their heads.Templar ducked and spun as it went past, trying to follow it into the murk.

"What the hell was that?" Avarran whispered.

"I have no bloody idea and I don't care. Let's just kill it."

"You know, I have some bad memories of sewers," Templar began. "It doesn't look like that's going to change."

_- a flash of fire – _

_- a red-robed body – _

_- a sparkling pendant lying on a frail chest – _

_- a woman, wreathed in blue fire –_

Templar jumped as images flashed across his mind. Well, it was the first hallucination he'd ahd in a while. Maybe he'd be able to sort everything out _after_ saving the world.

Matius smiled grimly. "Everyone, draw your freaking swords and get ready to freaking use them."

He stepped forwards-

"Oh, thank Akatosh," he sighed. "I thought it would run past again."

"But what is it?" Templar asked as they walked. "It's not a daedra."

"Something weird is going on down here. That's for certain. Anyway, I hope all of the other sewers aren't like this."

"The Imperial ones weren't," Templar replied.

"And what were you doing in there-?" Matius asked, not really expecting an answer."We're coming up to the intersection," Avarran said softly. It was a crossroads between four tunnels, each leading to a different part of the castle, and was a slightly bigger space to allow for any extra flow of water. The stone blocks of the walls were covered in algae, and rubbish had piled up in the corners. Water dripped from the ceiling, making ripples on the calm surface.

"Oh. Right, wasn't it?"

_SCREEEK! Eek Eek eek eek… _The unearthly sound slowly faded into the silence.

There was the sound of claws on stone. It got louder and louder and louder-

And faded away.

"Anyone know what the _hell_ that is?" Captain Matius whispered.

"No."

"F—k if I know," said Avarran.

"Okay. Back to back, everyone."

The three men shuffled together, drawing their weapons.

"Remind me. Who said this was the safest path? I could kill them right now."

"I did," Captain Matius replied.

"Oh."

They waited.

"Captain," Templar said urgently, "there's four tunnels but only three men."

"I know," he whispered back, "but we've got a seventy-five percent chance that it will come out of a tunnel that someone is watching, and in my line of work that's pretty good odds."

- _skitter skitter skitter -_

Templar wiped the sweat from his palms and tried to stop his knees from shaking. Beside him, Avarran and Matius planted their legs in a combat stance.

_- skitter skitter skitter – _

"Torches up!" Captain Matius called out. Templar hurriedly raised his torch and didn't like the way he saw it glint off something-

_- skitter Skitter SKITTER Skitter skitter Skitter SKITTER Skitter skitter - _

Templar's eyes darted over to the undefended tunnel, then back to his own. He glanced around the room again. "Everyone alright?"

"Yes," Captain Matius replied tersely. "Just don't talk."

"Oh, okay." He wiped his hands again, staring into the black hole that was the tunnel in front of him, trying to make shapes out of the shadows. He tried to focus on the area around him, to sense the faintest presence of …

_Oooh, this is different._

And he felt it. There was a distinct spiky blob in his awareness, crouching in one of the tunnels. The blob began to move a little, sloshing through the water. Then it was racing through the pipes, clinging to the roof, coming faster and closer and faster-

Distantly, Templar realised that the skittering sound was very loud now. The …thing was also getting very close, so close that it could only be a few metres away. Templar's eyes widened as he saw a black shape come rushing at him from the darkness.

"Ahhhh!" he shouted out and swung his sword at the thing as it scurried past his head. He managed to slice something and a thin stream of blood sparkled in the air for a second and then dropped into the water, staining it red.

Then it was gone, the sound of its passage fading into the distance.

"How far to the exit?" Avarran asked nervously.

"A hundred metres or so. Not too far."

"But not too close, either."

"Yes," answered the Captain. "But there's a room that was used for storage and maintenance and things about twenty metres… that way." He pointed to the left. "It's a little easier to see in there, because there's a vent to the surface."

"Oh, good. That would be nice."

They turned left at the next T-junction, Captain Matius in the lead with Avarran bringing up the rear.

"Here." They stopped in front of a rusty iron gate, that had a thick metal door behind it. Matius pulled the gate open and tried to turn the door handle.

"Damn," he muttered.

_- skitter skitter skitter -_

"Uh, Captain. Could you hurry it up a little?" Templar asked.

"The door's locked. The door is bloody locked."

"Ah." Templar heard Avarran draw his sword.

_I'll be damned if I'm going to die down here,_ he though furiously. _What to do, what to do, what to do…_

_- "You'd better come too, Templar" - _

_- hanging innocently – _

_- glared at him – _

_- "genuinely want your help" - _

Templar suddenly jogged up to the door and pushed the Kvatch guardsman aside. "Move, Matius. No time to waste." He pulled a lockpick from his belt and began jiggling it into the keyhole.

"Quickly, people," Avarran said. "It's getting closer."

Templar jiggled the pick around, feeling for the tumbler.

_Slide, push, click-_

_Snap!_ "Damn. Broke." He pulled out another lockpick.

A couple of metres away, Avarran was listening carefully. "Captain. Could I have your torch?"

"Sure," Matius answered. He handed it over. Suddenly, Avarran pulled his arm back and hurled it down the pipe. It spun gracefully before skidding to a stop in the water. A few seconds later, the flame sputtered out. But it was enough.

"Oh." Captain Matius groaned.

"Hey, Templar! Make that 'it's' a plural," Avarran called out.

"Wha-?" Templar answered, concentrating on the lock.

"There's more than one!" Avarran shouted back. "In fact, I'd say there was more that twenty!"

"No pressure," Captain Matius added helpfully.

Templar crouched down for a better look. Something was wrong here. He was _sure_ he'd done the tumbler right. He felt around a bit. Oh, that would be right. There were _two_ tumblers.

"Almost there!" he called out.

_Slide, push, click!_

The lock snapped open, shaking off years of mud and grime. Templar held the door open.

"Go! Gogogo!"

Matius and Avarran whirled around and began sprinting for the door, just as some of the creatures began to emerge into the light. One beast snarled, and began to scamper after them. The others soon followed in a tide of black, spiny bodies and sharp, hooked claws.

The pair leapt past Templar's face and rolled into the small room beyond. Templar swung around the doorhandle, shot off a fireball for good luck and pulled the door closed. He took one last look at the mass of creatures –

And saw something very, very different. It was about two metres tall, roughly man-shaped, and covered in fur. Muscles bulged under its skin, and its red eyes glowed in the darkness. It stood tall in the sea of black, glowering at him menacingly.

"Whoa-"

And Matius shot past him and slammed the door closed, locking it again.

"Okay. Everyone got the required number of arms and legs?"

There was a general chorus of assent.

"Well, that's a start. Now, we'd better start barricading the door – and there's a door at the other end, too – because I think those things are still trying to get in." Something thudded into the metal with an unearthly shriek, shaking it a little.

"There's boxes in the corner. Let's go, people."

The room was around five metres long and three metres wide, with a door at either end. There was also a small side-passage that led off into another room. Boxes and crates were stacked neatly along one side, and pipes criss-crossed the ceiling. A small duct that led to the surface let in a little light.

"You know," Templar said as he began blocking the door, "There's not just black things out there."

"Really? You mean it's worse?" Avarran said sarcastically.

"You know that Doom series of books? I'm sure you must have read them."

"Yes…" Captain Matius answered.

"Well, it looked a lot like an imp from that."

"Ah, okay. About two metres tall, hairy, big muscles, claws, lots of eyes…"

"Actually, it only had two eyes, but you get the idea."

"Uh-huh. Well, let's stack faster then."

A small wall began to form in front of each door. The one they had escaped through was still thudding occasionally. Templar saw that the metal was beginning to buckle a little.

"How's everyone doing?"

"Almost there."

There was a bang from the other end of the room. Something slammed into Avarran's door.

"Done!"

The three men backed away from the doors, drawing their swords. Suddenly, there was silence.

Heavy footsteps began reverberating through the stone. Templar reached out with his mind again, and felt something very big approaching the door. It was a faint golden outline in his vision, an angry blotch in his awareness surrounded by a thousand tiny servants.

_This could be a useful bit of magic._

Something roared.

_CRASH!_

The door slammed inwards, thrown off its hinges by a huge, brown fist. Boxes flew across the room, their contents tumbling out. The door clanged as it hit the ground. Templar fireballed the pile of splintered wood that lay in front of the entrance and watched as it burst into flame, forming a temporary barrier. Through it, he saw the masses of creatures back away.

"Okay, everyone," Matius said calmly. "Eventually those flames are going to go out, and we need to be out of here when they do. Let's just slowly back into the side room."

Templar, Matius and Avarran began to retreat through the small passageway. The man shaped creature smiled menacingly, and waved its hand over the blazing wood. Instantly, the flames disappeared. Smoke curled lazily up towards the ceiling.

"Stuff that. Just run!"

The group sprinted into the side passage, the sounds of pursuit close behind, and emerged into the next room. Captain Matius skidded to a stop in front of the door.

"No!" He slammed his fist against the metal. "Templar! Get the damn door open! Just melt through it if you have to!"

_Melt through it?_ Templar thought. _That's actually a good idea._

He began drawing energy into his arm, picturing the city of Kvatch ablaze.

Avarran and Matius stood shoulder to-shoulder, blocking the passageway. "Here they come…" The legionnaire blinked as the passageway was suddenly lit with an orange glow. He turned. "Whoa…"

A steady stream of fiery light shot out of Templar's palm into the cold, unyielding metal. It began to glow cherry-red in the centre.

The first creature skidded around the corner and leapt at them. It was about half-a-metre high, with four legs ending in sharp claws, and an elongated head filled with razor-sharp teeth. It was covered in a black, slimy exoskeleton, with spines protruding down its back.

Avarran raised his shield and swung downwards. The creature dodged sideways and scampered up the wall, clawing at his helmet. He ducked and swung again, lopping the thing's head from its shoulders. Another came scampering through the water. He lashed out and caught it on the shoulder. It slid backwards and jumped at his chest, but slammed into his upraised shield and fell to the ground.

_Aaaahhhh! _Templar screamed inside his head as his hand began to blister with the intensity of the heat. The metal was beginning to melt now. As he watched a white-hot droplet fell to the ground, sizzling and steaming as it hit the damp stone.

Matius shouted as a creature clung to his arm, red gashes appearing wherever its claws struck. He swung and slammed it into the nearest wall, then holding it there and stamping on it with his booted foot. Something cracked and it released its grip. The Kvatch guardsman struck the next one out of the air without even realising it, reflexes taking over.

There was a large hole in the door now, and the stream of fire was beginning to jet through to the other side. Templar felt himself weakening as he used up his energy reserves. _A few more seconds…_

Avarran staggered backwards as a creature slammed into his shield again and again. He swung at it, but it writhed away from the blade and scurried up the wall and onto the ceiling. The legionnaire twisted around as the creature dropped to the ground behind him, and tripped as another smashed his legs from behind. He kicked at the first one with his foot and clambered to his feet, chopping it in half with a wild swing. The second one leapt at his head - and was thrown into the wall by Captain Matius' whistling sword.

_Is that hole big enough to climb through? Probably. _Templar fell to the ground, the fire dissipating in thin curls. "Hey! Door's open!"

Captain Matius turned, and saw a ragged hole in the middle of the door, the edges still smoking. He kicked one creature out of the way, took one last glance and began running, Avarran by his side. Templar called out to them as they scrambled through the opening.

"Get ready to drag me through!"

"What?!"

Templar turned to face the horde of incoming creatures and summoned up the fire again, directing it like a flamethrower across the mass of black bodies. Fire rapidly spread across their ranks, until the whole floor was ablaze.

From the other side of the door, Matius watched as Templar collapsed. "Private Avarran! Help!"

They reached through and grabbed him by his shoulders, dragging him through the gap. Matius peered at his face. "He's only barely conscious. We'll have to carry him."

Templar grunted as they heaved him up onto their shoulders. "What a barbecue."

They listened to the crackle of flames and the squeals of burning monsters. "All thanks to you. We'd never have got out of there otherwise," Avarran said.

"But now you've got to carry me. Maybe it would've been smarter just to melt the lock, instead of the whole door. Would've used less energy."

"Oh, I like melting the whole door. Says something about your personality."

The squeals continued as they moved onwards. "Right at the next intersection," Matius announced. "Then left, then right. At the end of that pipe there should be a ladder down."

"A ladder going down?" Templar asked fuzzily.

"Yep. The castle's mounted on a hill, see. Then it's straight ahead to another ladder that leads to the surface."

"Oh, thank Akatosh. I never thought we'd get there."

In the distance, the screams stopped.

_ROOOAAARRRRR!_

"Oh, for f—k's sake," Avarran muttered angrily. "Templar, can you walk?"

Templar tested his legs. "A little."

"Then let's go."

They jogged around the corner, Templar trying to keep up. At the next corner, they finally began to hear the faint skittering sound everyone loved to hate.

"We should be able to make it," Matius said. "Twenty metres to the ladder." Templar wobbled unsteadily, then righted himself, sucking in a deep gulp of air. "How am I ever going to climb a _ladder…_"

_Twenty metres…_

_Fifteen…_

_Ten…_

_Five…_

"We've got company!" Avarran shouted.

_Four-three-two-one-_

The Captain quickly opened the manhole cover and began scrambling down the slippery rungs of the ladder. He glanced down the pipe at the bottom. "All clear! You first, Templar."

Avarran held his shoulders as he slithered down, so that he could fall into Captain Matius' waiting hands. His feet struggled for purchase on the metal as he slithered through, falling heavily, but the Kvatch guard managed to soften the impact. Avarran soon followed, sliding down swiftly.

"Did you close the hole?" Captain Matius asked.

"What – no!"

"Oh well, too late now. Just keep going straight. Almost there."

The three began sloshing through the water towards the end of the pipe, something that seemed impossibly far away. Avarran slipped in the muck, but Captain Matius dragged him upright, just as the first creatures crawled down the ladder.

_Thirty metres…_

_Twenty…_

_Ten…_

"Up, up, up!" Matius shouted. "Templar first!"

Templar grimaced as he saw it. _That's a bloody big ladder…_

He grasped the first rung and pulled himself up, trying to keep focused. Avarran began climbing once he was three metres up, Matius not far behind. The first creature reached the base of the ladder and began scrambling up it. Matius threw it off with a well-aimed kick.

Templar blinked as his head bumped against metal. _Oh, I'm at the top already. That was quick._

"Unscrew it! It's got a wheel on the bottom!" Avarran shouted.

"Oh." Templar took the wheel with his free hand and began turning it, faster and faster. Suddenly, he heard a clunk as the hatch unlocked. He pushed upwards and managed to pull himself out. Then Avarran emerged from the sewer, covered in blood and dirt and grime.

"We _do_ look bad, don't we," Templar said absent-mindedly.

Matius' voice floated up out of the hatch. "Give me a hand here, will you?!"

Templar and Avarran peered over the edge of the hole, to see the Captain handing on desperately with one hand. "I threw my sword at one of them!" he shouted again. "Seemed like a good idea at the time!"

The pair reached down and grasped the Kvatch guard's free hand, pulling him out of the shaft. He flopped onto the ground, exhausted.

"I'm never going in there again. And don't forget to close the hatch this time, will you?" he added breathlessly.

"Ah." Avarran slammed the cover down with a satisfying clunk, and wiped his hands on his tunic.

"And lock it," Matius said irritably.

Templar leaned over and swung the wheel clockwise until he felt the lock click. Then he looked upwards and found himself staring into the angry eyes of a dremora archer.

It snarled.

_Author's Note: Sorry to cut you off like this, but otherwise this chapter would be a little too long. Remember which path you choose, because you'll be given the option again at the beginning of the next chapter, when it's released._

----------

3

"I think we should climb the walls. It's certainly the quickest way. Would they have any equipment stored in the Chapel?" Lieutenant Luthar asked.

Matius frowned. "Part of the crypt is a storehouse with all sorts of things in it. I doubt we could find a ladder big enough, but maybe there's a grappling hook or something."

"Good. Anyone here good at climbing walls?"

One of the legionnaires stuck his hand up. "Yes, sir. Came second in the rockclimbing championships down on the Anvil cliffs last year."

"Excellent, Private Llarian. Anyone else?"

"I'll go," Jesan said. "I'm good at climbing trees, and I don't mind heights."

_Ugh, heights. The thing about heights is that it's more being afraid of edges. Or being afraid of the ground when it's far away_.

"Very well," Luthar answered. "You two go with Captain Matius and see if they've got any climbing equipment in the Chapel."

The three of them walked off, making their way back across the square. The guards watched them disappear into the driving rain.

"Soooo…" someone began. "How about a game of cards?"

"It's raining, idiot," came the grumbled reply.

They waited.

"You know, with a castle that big, he must be compensating for something."

Time passed. Templar began counting flagstones. One guard started whistling a mournful tune.

Eventually they returned, another guard from the Chapel in tow, Matius with a grappling hook over one shoulder. "We got lucky," he said. "Apparently they were going to clean out the Chapel basement, but it was delayed." He handed the hook to the legionnaire beside him. "You're probably better at this than I am, private. So, well, you can go over with Jesan and… do your thing."

"Okay."

Everyone stood and stared at Jesan and Llarian in a depressed sort-of manner. Templar sat down with Merandil on the edge of the drawbridge.

The legionnaire grabbed the hook in one hand and held the rope with a loose grip in the other. He bent back and hurled it at the battlements, the rope whizzing through his gloves. It clattered over, but failed to take hold. He coiled the rope up again and threw, this time a bit higher.

_Scrape – clunk!_

The hook caught fast on one of the crenellations. The legionnaire tugged it a few times to make sure it was secure.

"I'll go first, to see if I can find a route that isn't wet."

"Agreed, private," Lieutenant Luthar answered, just for the sake of saying something.

Private Llarian looped the rope around his waist and poked around to find a suitable foothold. After a couple of seconds he planted his boot firmly and stepped upwards on a small ledge between two stone blocks about a metre up the wall. One foot slipped a little on the damp stone, but soon caught hold. "One down," he muttered. "Twenty-nine to go."

Slowly, the legionnaire began inching his way upwards. When he was half-way up, he looked down and called out. "Up here it gets a bit easier – whoa!"

He lost his grip on the wall and swung out into space, slamming back into the wall with a resounding crash. He slid down the rope a little before his hands clamped shut, and hung there for a moment, bobbing from side to side.

"You alright Private?" the lieutenant called out.

"Yeah, I think. The rain makes it a bit hard, though." The legionnaire began feeling around with his feet until he found the ledge again. "Better keep going."

After another couple of minutes, he managed to reach the battlements. He heaved himself over and stood up.

"All clear!" he shouted down. "But I've got a better idea! Jesan seems pretty light, so he can grab hold of the rope and I'll try to pull him up! If he gives me a bit of help with his legs, it'll probably be much quicker!"

Tierra snickered a little. "He's light because he's got no muscles. He was beaten by _me_ when he was arm-wrestling. And I'm a woman."

Jesan scowled at her, then nodded and grabbed the rope firmly. "Wrap it around a bit!" the legionnaire yelled. "It's safer!"

"Ready!" Jesan peered up at the top of the wall.

"Okay! Just try and keep your feet on the stone, and we should be all right!"

The Kvatch guard shakily began to ascend, helped by the legionnaire pulling him up from the other end. Apart from one hairy moment a few metres up, everything went smoothly.

As Jesan got to his feet at the top, Matius shouted out: "Gods be with you! Unlock the gate!"

Llarian picked up the grappling hook and threw it back down. It clattered loudly as it hit the ground. "We shouldn't need this anymore," he murmured.

Suddenly, Jesan appeared beside him. "Hey! Wait! The door - tower's - locked!"

"What'd he say?" Lieutenant Luthar asked.

"The door to the guard tower's locked," Captain Matius muttered. "The towers are the only way to get down, because the stairs are inside them. Oh, and the grappling hook's broken. Great."

One of the prongs had snapped off at the base as it hit the stone.

He looked upwards. "The hook's broken! You'll need to find your own way down! Try the other towers, see if they're open!"

Llarian looked over his shoulder worriedly, and then answered. "Okay. Will do. But we've got something to take care of first." He stepped back and walked out of view, Jesan following.

"What have they got to deal with up there?" Matius said to himself. "No matter. We'd better send in another team of guards, just in case. They can take the first route and go through the north guard tower passage."

Vonius spoke up. "I wouldn't do that, captain. Not with _them_ out there."

Templar looked up. Across the square, a group of twenty or so daedra had entered from a side street. Clannfears, scamps and dremoras were all milling around, chattering to each other in their harsh, guttural language.

"Oh, shit," Captain Matius answered. "Shields up, everyone!"

----------

Private Llarian threw a worried glance behind him, and then looked back down at the group of guards below. "Dammit," he muttered. "Nothing's easy, is it." He said a bit louder, "Okay. Will do. But we've got something to take care of first."

He stepped back from the precipice and tapped Jesan on the shoulder. "Follow me, and be very, very quiet."

----------

Jesan stopped fiddling with the door as he felt Llarian tap his shoulder. The legionnaire whispered into his ear. "Be very, very quiet."

Llarian pointed over to the right, where two dremora archers were standing about fifty metres down the wall.

----------

"What're they doing?" Merandil whispered.

The two-dozen daedra were grouped around the statue in the centre of the square, appearing to be waiting for something.

"Looks like they haven't noticed us. Everyone, when I say so, lower yourself to the ground. Hopefully the gatehouse will shield us from view. But keep your weapons ready, just in case." There was a pause. "Now."

The ten men slowly crouched down to the cobblestones. Apart from a few soft clinks, everything was silent.

Then another group of thirty daedra appeared from beside the Chapel, making their way towards the centre of the square

"Oh, sh—!"

----------

Jesan and Llarian stood beside two dead dremoras, looking around for any more unexpected company.

"Looks like that's it," Jesan said.

"Yeah. Hopefully. Anyway, we've got to try the other guard towers, to see if they're open.

"There's eight of them, evenly spaced around the castle."

"Okay," Llarian replied, "how about you go left and I go right. If we find an open one, just yell out. If they're all locked, well, we'll have to think of something else."

"Sounds good."

Lieutenant Luthar wriggled over to where Captain Matius was lying. "Captain!" he whispered hoarsely. "I think a quick tactics discussion would be appropriate. Let's hope it doesn't come to that, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

"Exactly what I was thinking, Lieutenant," Matius replied.

"Oh, and about that man you have with you, Templar or whatever-his-name-is – there's something you should know about him. He's an escaped– "

"Not, now, Lieutenant. We've got more important things to attend to."

"Yes, but we think he's involved in the Emperor's dea– "

"What about the Emperor? Not to be insubordinate, Lieutenant, but that man has helped us close an Oblivion Gate without asking for any reward. So, about tactics?"

"Ah. Okay. In officer's college I was top of the class in the 'Last Stands' section. I had a talent for turning them into 'Desperate Stands'," Luthar said nervously.

"Omitting that 'last', I see."

"About twenty-five percent of the time I turned them into 'Victories Against All Odds'."

"That's encouraging. So, what do we do?"

"Well, about four men can stand shoulder-to shoulder on the bridge. What we want to do is make a shield wall that no one can pass through. This means that we'll have to use our swords as stabbing weapons, but it shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"What happens to the others?" Matius asked.

"They stand in a second rank behind the first. The man in the first rank yells out when he's tired and quickly swaps with the man from behind. We'll also stand at the front of the bridge, which gives us a bit of room to move backwards and makes sure we're not squished against the walls."

"And the last two?"

For the last two, we want archers. They can stand on the raised sections on either side of the bridge and fire away."

"That'll make them prime targets for the enemy's ranged troops, though."

"If my eyes are not deceiving me," Lieutenant Luthar said, "the enemy doesn't have any."

Captain Matius looked out at the assembled daedra. "No archers. But scamps can throw fireballs."

"Fireballs travel slowly, Captain. The archers will be able to dodge them."

"Hopefully."

"This whole plan depends on hope, Captain," the Lieutenant sighed. "We may as well be optimistic."

"True. We've only got one archer, though, which is Tierra, since Jesan's on the wall with your legionnaire."

"Anyone of yours do healing magic? They can stand back as well."

Matius rolled over to face the rest of the guards. "Anyone a good healer?"

People shook their heads. Corporal Kenith spoke up. "I can only do minor wounds, sir. I'm not exactly a first-class mage."

"Me too," Templar added.

"Very well," Lieutenant Luthar said. He turned to the remaining legionnaire. "Avarran, I know you used to be a fairly good bowman. Now's your chance."

"What, sir?" he replied, confused.

"Never mind. We'll explain in a bit."

"Well, Lieutenant," Captain Matius said, "I'm not a tactician so I'll stand by you. How about we tell the men?"

----------

_Locked_, Jesan though miserably. _All locked._

He looked across the castle roofs to see Llarian two towers down from him. They'd done almost all of them, each having one to go.

The Kvatch guard began jogging down the wall, blowing on his wet, freezing fingers to keep them warm. Bowmen weren't allowed to wear the metal gloves, due to their extra heaviness and clumsiness that made pulling a bowstring that much more awkward.

He reached the next tower and tried the door.

_Locked again_. _Damn. _

As he watched, Llarian reached the last tower to be checked. It happened to be relatively close to where they had ascended, on account of the little daedra-slaying detour they had taken.

_One more tower..._

----------

Private Llarian came to a stop in front of the thick wooden door. He tentatively reached out to the handle. _Comeon, comeon…_

He grasped it and turned firmly. The door clicked open.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Door's open!"

----------

The shout carried over the wall, to the ears of the crouching guards and legionnaires, to the grand statue of Antus Pinder, to the ears of the fifty daedra milling around it. Ears perked up. Heads turned. One dremora smiled. "I do believe there are some humans crouching by the drawbridge, hoping that they aren't noticed. Shall we deal with them?"

Another dremora snarled in its harsh, rasping voice. "Yes. Lets. KILL THEM!"

----------

Captain Matius cursed as he heard the shout. "I didn't know they could speak Cyrodiilic."

"I could read some of the signs in Oblivion," Templar said. "Vonius would've seen them too."

There was the thunder of one hundred feet as the daedra began running towards them.

"Oh, by Tiber Septim. Five-to-one's not too bad, is it?" The Lieutenant took his place and raised his shield grimly. "In formation!"

----------

As Jesan and Llarian made their way down the tower, the sounds of shouting and the clash of steel filtered down from above.

"It seems they've noticed us at last," Llarian said.

"Yes. We'd better hurry. It doesn't sound too good out there."

----------

Daedric screams filled the air. Their pounding feet thudded closer. The mass of bodies writhed across the square.

"Archers… loose!"

The two soldiers stood and fired into the enemy. Templar saw one clannfear tumble to the ground. Volley after volley slashed into the daedra, but there were too few archers to turn the charge. A fireball hissed past Templar's breastplate.

"Hold fast, men! Three. Two. One. _AAAAHHHH!_"

_CRASH! _The first rank screamed and stepped forwards to meet the charge, made up of Merandil, Kenith, Luthar and Vonius. From his position in the second, Templar could do nothing but watch as they staggered backwards as the enemy piled up against them. Hordes of daedra slammed into the shield wall, clawing and screaming. The guards held their ground, stabbing into the enemy ranks with grim determination. Everything was a mess of snarling, twisting demons and blood and steel.

Beside him, Matius waited, sword in hand. "Move along a little," he said calmly. "Give me a bit of fighting room."

Templar edged to the right.

"Swap ranks!"

_Aaaahhh!_

Merandil turned sideways and leapt backwards. Templar moved forward onto the blood-slicked square.

The first daedra appeared. Templar stepped forward, thrusting his sword into the dremora's face. Desperately the daedra tried to swing its sword forward, but Templar struck him again and it fell. Now the night was filled with the sounds of battle, men screaming in pain or fury, swords ringing, shields clashing.

Several scamps clambered forwards to Templar's right. He plunged his sword deep into the chest of the first and lurched as it struck his shield. The blade went deep, and Templar struggled to drag it free. Unable to pull it clear, he shoved the scamp backwards and hammered his shield into the face of the second. Matius appeared alongside him, stabbing and cutting, his arm bleeding from a long cut. Templar managed to get his sword free and swung to face a fresh attack.

Along the bridge the daedra were managing to gain a foothold. The line was slowly edging backwards. Templar looked to his right as someone shouted out, and saw one guard fall to the ground, blood bubbling out from between his fingers from a hole in his stomach. Lieutenant Luthar stepped forwards from the second rank to take his place and drag him out of the way. "Avarran! You come behind me, and check the wound!"

The guard lay against the edge, moaning pitifully. Matius flinched as he heard the sound. "No…"

_- a flash of fire – _

_- a red-robed body – _

_- a sparkling pendant lying on a frail chest – _

_- a woman, wreathed in blue fire –_

Templar jumped as the images flickered across his eyelids. _Well, that's the first hallucination I've had in a while. Maybe I can sort everything out once I've finished with saving the world._

"Change!"

Templar stepped back and let Merandil go forwards. He stood there, breathing heavily.

_That guard, what was his name? He was in the chapel… Berich, that was it. Berich. I could so easily be like that, wounded or killed in 'the line of duty.' Just another person that I'll never get to know. Just another person that won't cheer other people up with his laugh, or chat with his friends._

In front of him, Merandil reeled as a daedric club thudded into his helmet. Templar quickly thrust forwards over his shoulder and stabbed the dremora through the heart, piercing the thin breastplate.

_Come on, you two, where are you? We need some help over here._

----------

Jean and Llarian ran down the last flight of stairs, leaving another dead scamp behind them. Jesan was nursing some new burns on his shoulder, where the scamp had brushed him with a fireball. He pushed against the door at the bottom. It didn't budge. "Locked, dammit!"

"Through the window!" Llarian yelled. He punched through the glass with his armoured fist and dived through, Jesan soon following. They emerged into a narrow alleyway between two buildings.

"Which way?" the legionnaire asked desperately.

"There," Jesan answered, pointing, and they both dashed off through the castle grounds.

_Author's Note: Sorry to cut you off like this, but otherwise this chapter would be a little too long. Remember which path you choose, because you'll be given the option again at the beginning of the next chapter, when it's released._

_To be continued…_


	18. Saving a City

_Author's Note: Predictable chapter name, isn't it? I could probably make a whole chapter of just Author's Notes by now, so this time there aren't any. _

_Except (sorry, I can't help it) to say that the reviewer "Mrs Os" is my English teacher, who has managed to struggle through the first few chapters despite knowing nothing about the game, and actually enjoyed them. Thanks! _

Saving a City

_**The Ruins of Kvatch, Mount Kvatch, The Colovian Highlands, Last Seed 30 3E433**_

_Remember the path you chose last chapter? Well, continue with the same one. If you need a refresher, it might be wise to skim through the previous chapter again._

_Path 1: Secret passage (the game's path)._

_Path 2: The sewers under the castle._

_Path 3: Climbing the walls and the battle._

_Note: I really hate this scene, but I'm sure it's not _that_ bad. And forgive the poetry (you'll know it when you see it), but I think it has a nice impact, even if it is crap._

_----------_

1

Thwump!

It was such a cheerful noise, like a beer-mug hitting the table in a busy inn, or a Khajiit dancer's feet smacking the dirt as he performed some strange, arcane ritual.

But in this case, it was altogether different.

Berich looked down, stunned, at the arrow that now jutted from his chest. He staggered backwards, shield falling from his hand.

"No!"

The cry flew around the rain-slicked street, darting in and out of shattered doors and broken windows, as Avarran and Templar looked on dumbly.

"No…"

The dremora that had fired the arrow had thrown away his bow and drawn his sword, accompanied by four other warriors.

Kvatch burned.

The spell broke. Templar and Avarran began running towards their wounded, still-standing friend as the daedra began to surround him. Then, the Kvatch guard slowly raised his sword – and slammed it into the throat of one of the attackers. The remaining demons sprang to the offensive, and Berich stumbled forwards, ready to take them all on.

Lightning flashed.

Templar watched as the blood-covered warrior, beyond hope of life, battled against four of Oblivion's soldiers. It was impossible that the guard was still standing, let alone fighting. The end was inevitable. But it seemed he would not allow himself to fall while there were still deaths to be avenged.

Templar and Avarran ran. The arrow seemed to wink at them, throwing feelings of guilt and helplessness everywhere it looked.

In the middle of the street, Berich fell to his knees with a groan that echoed off the walls, blood streaming from the wound in his chest. With a massive feat of will, he raised his sword, and with one final cry plunged it into the chest of the last daedra.

As they reached him, the guard was lying on his back, spread-eagled, sword laid across his chest.

"Berich? Are you all right?" Templar heard himself ask as he knelt over the guard's injured body.

_What a bloody stupid thing to say._

Blood bubbled up out of Berich's mouth as he answered. "No… I think you can see that I have an arrow in my chest."

"Yeah. We'll try to get you somewhere safe, okay? Then we can see what we can do about the arrow," Templar replied.

"Don't fool yourself, friends, even if it is for my benefit. I am going to die, and there is nothing anybody on this earth can do about it. But I took a fair few of the bastards with me, didn't I?..."

"More than a few. It was… amazing. In fact, I'd say it was the work of a hero."

"You think so, Avarran? We'll, that makes me feel a whole lot better." The guard grinned, the sort of genuinely cheerful grin someone gives, even if they know they've lost, and maybe never could've won in the first place.

"Well, we'd better get you out of here. You take the other side, Templar." Avarran crouched down and tried to lift Berich up by the shoulders.

"Don't bother. Just take the key. While there are definitely better places to die in, in front of my house isn't the worst place I can think of either."

"What? This is where your house was?" Templar asked distractedly.

"Don't worry about that. Just take the f—ing key!"Templar suddenly saw that Berich was shoving a silvery thing into his face.

"Oh, right. The key. To the guardhouse." He took it gingerly and put it in a pocket.

More blood leaked out of Berich's mouth, dribbling down his cheek. "Hurry up and go. This must be a cliché by now, but there's a city – well, a castle, at least – to save, and I intend to die in peace, thinking about happy things, and pretending that my family is alive. So, goodbye friends. Tell them… tell the rest of the guards that… well, you'll know what to say."

"Will do. Goodbye, Berich. See you in fifty years." Templar tried to sound positive, but couldn't stop a tear from winding down his face, soon washed away by the rain.

"I can't think of anything decent to say, Berich," Avarran said quietly. "I'll hope that there's some sort of afterlife as well."

"Yeah, right," Berich said distantly.

His heart breaking, Templar knelt down on one knee. Beside him, Avarran did the same.

With trembling fingers, the Kvatch guard curled his hands over his sword hilt. Templar heard his final sigh.

----------

The guard tower was warm, a welcome relief from the weather. They'd only spent a minute or so kneeling in the rain, the ever-present burden of responsibility pressing down on them. They tried not to think about what had transpired.

_Maybe there will be time for proper recognition later. Once this is all over._

_How many times have I said that?_

The tower was made of rough-hewn stone, mortared together into a cylinder than ended far above their heads. Crates and barrels and sacks of supplies were stacked around the walls. Even hay bales were scattered around. A few candlesticks provided light, most of them burnt down half-way or more, their soft glow glinting off racks of swords and axes.

"Here. There's a trapdoor under the carpet." Avarran broke the silence that had settled over them. Templar handed him Berich's bloodstained key and the legionnaire pulled the hatch open, descending down the ladder underneath.

"All clear. Come on down."

Templar lowered himself through the opening and made his way to the bottom. It was almost completely dark, apart from the light that shone down through the trapdoor. The air was thick with smoke that had seeped through from above.

In the gloom, Templar could make out an opening in the wall, and a thin flight of steps. He cautiously walked down, trying not to trip over in the dark. At the bottom there was a long, thin passage, leading off into the darkness.

"Hello…hello…hello…hello." Templar's voice echoed deeply. "Well, it's a pretty big secret passage."

They walked – _if a bat flies into my face I'm going to_ sh#t_ myself – _and walked, and at one point Templar thought they passed through some larger space, but he couldn't be sure in the dark. Eventually they came to another stairway, this time leading upwards, which they promptly ascended. It had a small torch fixed to the wall. "Nearly there," Avarran said quietly.

The stairs ended in a circular room not unlike the one they had come from, with an identical ladder and hatch in the ceiling.

"We must be under one of the castle guard towers. The ones beside the gate." Templar began climbing, Avarran following closely. He pushed open the trapdoor at the top, and emerged into-

A thin rectangle of a room, about two metres wide, ten metres long and high enough for two men to stand on top of one another. The two towers of the gatehouse opened up at either end. In the centre of each of the longer walls there was a thick iron portcullis. Templar rushed over to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

Through one gate was the castle courtyard, and through the other was that drawbridge. He pressed his face up against the bars.

"Hey everyone! We made it! But-"

"Well, that's nice, isn't it?!" Matius replied irritably. "What we need here is some actual _HELP!_"

_- men screamed - _

_- fire roared - _

_- daedra snarled - _

_- blood poured - _

Templar blinked as he realised that the men they'd left behind were struggling to hold the drawbridge against a sprawling mass of daedra. There were at least fifty of the beasts, and the dead were piled up against the front line of defenders. Metal clashed. Men shouted. Templar watched, shocked, at the brutality and hopelessness and suddenness of it all. The ten guards were blocking the drawbridge in a fierce line, refusing to give any ground, with two of them standing back and firing arrows into the enemy. He saw Matius cut down a clannfear with a vicious swipe.

"NOW, please!"

"Already on it." Avarran was standing by the wheel on the wall that lifted the gates. He gripped it firmly and began turning, grunting with the effort. Outside, the battle continued. Templar almost screamed as he saw Vonius go down with a deep gash in his leg, to be quickly dragged out of the way and replaced by another fighter. One legionnaire was already dead, propped up against the drawbridge's side.

The gate creaked upwards, bit by bit.

_How the hell did _this_ happen?_

Only twenty minutes ago they'd left to open the gates, and now they were battling a horde of demons.

Now the bars were about halfway up. "Hey! Gate's almost open!"

Lieutenant Luthar called out from his place in the first line of defenders. "Okay, men! Start retreating, one step at a time! Archers first, and don't trip over anything!"

Slowly, the two Kvatch guards that had been serving as archers – _Jesan and Tierra, by the looks of things – _stepped down from their positions and began walking backwards, careful to keep facing the daedric horde. As if sensing that their quarry were about to escape, the dremoras and scamps and clannfears renewed their assault. The defensive line began to buckle a little in the middle as a couple of clannfears smashed into one guard's shield.

"Second line of defenders, retreat! Take the wounded with you."

More of the defenders stepped back, leaving only a single line of four between safety and Oblivion. Merandil grunted as a scamp slammed into his shield and swung back quickly. It ducked, lancing out with a claw across his forearm. The guard quickly recovered, shield held high. The two archers had now ducked under the dangling portcullis and were leaning, breathing heavily, on the bumpy stone walls.

Captain Matius suddenly appeared, Vonius leaning on his shoulder and limping heavily. Blood ran freely down his leg. Back on the drawbridge, Lieutenant Luthar dodged a fireball and told the line to retreat. One clannfear jumped clean over the defenders and landed on the corpse-filled cobbles behind them, but was quickly downed by Tierra and Jesan's arrows as they fired from inside the gatehouse.

Another score of daedra rushed out of a side street that opened up into the Kvatch square, joining the force already gathered there. The remaining soldiers began to edge backwards. _It's almost ridiculous_, Templar thought,_ that four men are holding back… that_.

In the front line, Lieutenant Luthar batted aside a sword-thrust, then brought his blade down on a dremora's neck. He dragged the weapon clear in time to parry a slashing cut. A fireball brushed the edge of his shield, missing his head by a foot. His sword lunged forward and twisted, disemboweling an attacker, who fell snarling at his feet. He threw his shield up to block a murderous leap, then slashed his blade high through the air, braining a dremora who had lost his helm. He felt a searing pain in his leg and saw that he'd stepped over a half-dead scamp as he'd retreated, which was trying to drag him to the ground. He plunged his sword into the thing's neck.

Then he felt a sudden dryness above him, a break from the endless rain that plagued the city. He looked up, and saw the portcullis over his head. Then he ran, passing through gatehouse and into the castle courtyard.

Templar saw the Lieutenant dash past, the last one to get inside. "Avarran! Lower the bars!"

The legionnaire threw the wheel sideways, and the heavy metal gate came crashing down, just in front of the flock of daedra. Claws and swords and growled curses snaked through the bars, unable to get through the sturdy steel that blocked their path. Avarran soon reappeared, exiting the guardhouse through a side door.

Lieutenant Luthar fell to the floor gratefully, wiping his slippery hands. "And that's that," he sighed. "The castle should be relatively empty."

"Maybe," Captain Matius replied doubtfully. "Kenith, see if you can patch anyone up, especially Ilend. If anyone else can heal, they're welcome to help." He stopped. "But, I'm afraid that one more good man has given his life today. Private Llarian of the Imperial Legionnaires."

The dead man's body was slumped against a wall, a large rent in his armour, blood still flowing from a deep chest wound.

Luthar spoke up. "A moment's silence, for those that are lost."

Templar was about to comply when he remembered something _that I can't believe I forgot_. He felt a brief surge of anger at himself, and raised a hand. "There was another, also…"

_Why do you suppress your true nature, human? Does it give you pleasure?_

_Because it is right, demon. Let us leave it at that._

Then the voices were gone.

Jesan looked up at Templar accusingly, now alert. "Where's Berich? He went with you, didn't he?"

"He died," Avarran replied emotionlessly. "From a dremora arrow. It was a hero's death."

The men – and woman – fell silent, in commemoration of the two lives that had been lost.

_End of chapter._

_----------_

2

They sat, staring at the arrow that was pointed at their heads. Templar suddenly realised that there were looking at the dremora through a panel of criss-crossing metal bars; they were in some sort of wide drain or channel that ran by the edge of a courtyard, a bit of water flowing through it as the rain continued to pour. The drain itself was covered with metal grating so that people could pass over it unimpeded. Unfortunately, the gaps were easily big enough to shoot an arrow through.

He noticed that Avarran was looking at him pointedly. The legionnaire whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "Just shoot him!-"

"I don't think I have enough energy left!" Templar whispered back. "I may be handsome enough to be a God, but unfortunately it doesn't extend to my magical prowess!"

The dremora looked at them suspiciously. It drew the bow back further, and growled at them. "What did you say?"

"Oh, only complimenting myself. Maybe I should throw a few your way, so you feel a little better about that face," Templar said recklessly. Matius turned to him with an expression of horror. "You just insulted it, and it's got an arrow pointed at my _head!_"

The dremora's eyes narrowed. It released the string-

_Clunk!_

-and the arrow rebounded off Avarran's shield, raised above Matius' body.

"Everyone! Get your shields up! He won't be able to get a clear shot because of the bars!"

The dremora shouted in fury and let fly with another arrow. It smashed into someone's shield and splintered in half.

"Now all we need to do is find a loose section," Matius muttered. They edged along, barely able to move in the tight space. Suddenly, Avarran called out from the front. "Dead end! Other way!"

Templar cursed and started to hobble the other way, the daedra still trying to kill them rather unsuccessfully. He found himself squished between the guard captain and the legionnaire, unable to see anything but Avarran's sweaty armpit and the water swirling around his feet.

Then Matius said something that Templar couldn't hear. "What?" Avarran said, shouting in his ear. Templar jumped, and bumped his head on the back of his shield. "Oh, for f—"

"We're coming up to a small tunnel! I assume it runs under a garden or something!"

Templar felt one last arrow thud into his own shield, and then they were enveloped in darkness, the sound of rushing water filling their ears. After half-a-minute of more discomfort, Matius announced that he could see the courtyard ahead, and that it was unguarded. Avarran told him that he didn't care and to get a bloody move on. Templar raised his voice in acknowledgement, and then told them both that he was sick of the world in general and that they should try being in the middle for once.

They emerged from the tunnel into more darkness, as the moon had decided to go and hide behind a cloud (quite selfishly, Templar thought). Matius proceeded to tell him that it was his own fault for being stuck in the middle and then Templar told him exactly where he could stick his sword. Avarran told both of them to shut up because he had a headache. They were about half-way across the courtyard, making their way towards another tunnel, when Matius whispered "_Quiet!_"

Templar immediately suppressed the urge to hit him, managed to have a few nice thoughts about not being mean to friends, and then had a few bad thoughts about mood swings.

Matius whispered again. "Some daedra coming. I can hear their footsteps. I'm pretty sure they'll see us, so everyone try to look dead."

"Look dead?" Avarran whispered back. "How about smelling dead? Scamps can smell quite well, can't they? Although we do look quite beaten up."

They carefully lowered themselves to the ground, wincing as the cold water lapped against their sides. Matius said, "Try to give your eyes a sort of glazed, empty look. Excellent, Templar."

Templar twisted his neck to look at him. "What? I wasn't doing any-"

"_Quiet!_" Avarran whispered. Soon, Templar could hear footsteps too; there were a few clawed feet in there, as well as some steel boots, and…

A set of claws gripped the metal above his head. Its owner didn't even look down. A bit of dirt flew over the edge, tickling his face.

Then there was a booted foot that made the metal grating vibrate. This one _did_ look down, and Templar felt its eyes look into his for a moment. It grunted something to its companions and moved on.

Another scamp walked over before a clannfear skipped past, jumping and snarling. Templar blinked while no one was looking. Then another two dremoras walked over.

He thought it would never end, but eventually it did. They waited until the last pair of feet had faded off into the distance, lay for another minute, and then Matius finally gave the all-clear.

Templar got up with a groan, felt another bad mood coming on, and suppressed it. "Off we go," Matius said tonelessly.

_Why do you suppress your true nature, human? Does it give you pleasure?_

_Because it is right, demon. Let us leave it at that._

There were voices, a woman and a man. Inside his _head_. Matius and Avarran obviously hadn't heard. Although, he thought darkly, it was hardly a surprise. Visions had become rather routine over the past few days.

They passed through another tunnel. It opened briefly in a small alleyway between two walls. A scamp was standing on the grating above their heads.

Matius put a finger to his lips and they crept past silently. Avarran scraped his shield as he passed into the next tunnel, but by the time the scamp looked down they had already disappeared.

After another indeterminate amount of time, they heard a great clang, and Matius called out to them joyfully. "We're here! The gatehouse!"

Templar managed to get himself to scramble along a little faster, and found that Matius had managed to remove one of the metal sections and had stepped out of the drain, stretching his legs happily. As he climbed out, Templar could see that they were next to the castle gatehouse, right beside a small door that led into it. Matius turned the knob and sprinted inside.

Avarran and Templar stood in the rain. "Well. We actually made it."

"Yes. I thought we wouldn't," Templar replied. "You know, I always find that it pays to be slightly pessimistic, because then you're always pleasantly surprised when you succeed."

"But," Avarran interrupted, "If you do worse than you think you will, _while being pessimistic_, then you'll be _really_ depressed."

They heard a shout from inside the gatehouse. "Oh, sh—!" Templar realised that he could hear the sound of swords in the distance, accompanied by furious shouts and screams.

"Yes, it is indeed a fine line to tread…" he said softly, afraid of what he was about to see. He began running after Matius, and skidded to a stop when he saw the scene.

It was a thin rectangle of a room, about two metres wide, ten metres long and high enough for two men to stand on top of one another. In the centre of each of the longer walls there was a thick iron portcullis. The wheel that raised the gates was attached to the far wall.

_- the defenders held - _

_- ever so slightly - _

_- as the daedric horde - _

_- struggled mightily - _

Templar blinked as he realised that the men they'd left behind were struggling to hold the drawbridge against a sprawling mass of daedra. There were at least fifty of the beasts, and the dead were piled up against the front line of defenders. Metal clashed. Men shouted. Templar watched, shocked, at the brutality and hopelessness and suddenness of it all. The ten guards were blocking the drawbridge in a fierce line, refusing to give any ground, with two of them standing back and firing arrows into the enemy. He saw Lieutenant Luthar cut down a clannfear with a vicious swipe.

"A fine line to tread…" he murmured, rooted to the spot.

"Open! Gate! Now!" Luthar yelled out breathlessly.

Templar rushed past Matius, grabbed hold of the gatehouse wheel and began to turn. It spun a few inches. Then faster and faster. He gave it a heave, and saw the iron portcullises that blocked their way begin to rise.

Outside, the battle continued. Matius almost screamed as he saw Vonius go down with a deep gash in his leg, to be quickly dragged out of the way and replaced by another fighter. Two defenders, a legionnaire and a Kvatch guard, were already dead, propped up against the drawbridge's side.

The gate creaked upwards, bit by bit.

_How the hell did _this_ happen?_

Only twenty minutes ago they'd left to open the gates, and now they were battling a horde of demons.

"If only we hadn't been so f—king slow!" Captain Matius shouted out, half-sobbing.

Now the bars were about halfway up. "Hey!" Avarran yelled. "Gate's almost open!"

Lieutenant Luthar called out from his place in the first line of defenders. "Okay, men! Start retreating, one step at a time! Archers first, and don't trip over anything!"

Slowly, the two Kvatch guards that had been serving as archers – _Jesan and Tierra, by the looks of things – _stepped down from their positions and began walking backwards, careful to keep facing the daedric horde. As if sensing that their quarry were about to escape, the dremoras and scamps and clannfears renewed their assault. The defensive line began to buckle a little in the middle as a couple of clannfears smashed into one guard's shield.

"Second line of defenders, retreat! Take the wounded with you."

More of the defenders stepped back, leaving only a single line of four between safety and Oblivion. Merandil grunted as a scamp slammed into his shield and swung back quickly. It ducked, lancing out with a claw across his forearm. The guard quickly recovered, shield held high. The two archers had now ducked under the dangling portcullis and were leaning, breathing heavily, on the bumpy stone walls.

Kenith suddenly appeared, Vonius leaning on his shoulder and limping heavily. Blood ran freely down his leg. Back on the drawbridge, Lieutenant Luthar dodged a fireball and told the line to retreat. One clannfear jumped clean over the defenders and landed on the corpse-filled cobbles behind them, but was quickly downed by Tierra and Jesan's arrows as they fired from inside the gatehouse.

Another score of daedra rushed out of a side street that opened up into the Kvatch square, joining the force already gathered there. The remaining soldiers began to edge backwards. _It's almost ridiculous_, Templar thought,_ that four men are holding back… that_. He felt the wheel latch into position, holding the gate open.

In the front line, Lieutenant Luthar batted aside a sword-thrust, then brought his blade down on a dremora's neck. He dragged the weapon clear in time to parry a slashing cut. A fireball brushed the edge of his shield, missing his head by a foot. His sword lunged forward and twisted, disemboweling an attacker, who fell snarling at his feet. He threw his shield up to block a murderous leap, then slashed his blade high through the air, braining a dremora who had lost his helm. He felt a searing pain in his leg and saw that he'd stepped over a half-dead scamp as he'd retreated, which was trying to drag him to the ground. He plunged his sword into the thing's neck.

Then he felt a sudden dryness above him, a break from the endless rain that plagued the city. He looked up, and saw the portcullis over his head. Then he ran, passing through gatehouse and into the castle courtyard.

Templar saw the Lieutenant dash past, the last one to get inside. He threw the wheel sideways, and the heavy metal gate came crashing down, just in front of the flock of daedra. Claws and swords and growled curses snaked through the bars, unable to get through the sturdy steel that blocked their path. Templar released the wheel gratefully and flexed his hands. He made his way out through the side door, making sure to stay out of the range of any daedric claws, but couldn't resist one last insult.

"I'll see you all… in _hell_," he yelled at them, then realised how stupid and irrational that was, and quickly walked away.

----------

Lieutenant Luthar fell to the floor gratefully, wiping his slippery hands. "And that's that," he sighed. "The castle should be relatively empty."

"Maybe," Captain Matius replied doubtfully. "Kenith, see if you can patch anyone up, especially Ilend. If anyone else can heal, they're welcome to help."

Jesan spoke up. "Yes. We should be proud that we survived. But two good men have given their lives today. Friends, comrades. They died to save us." Some of the defenders nodded in agreement. Luthar and Matius jumped to their feet, stunned, unrealising.

Jesan continued. "Private Llarian of the Imperial Legionnaires. And Private Berich of the Kvatch Guards."

Their bodies were slumped up against the castle walls, having been dragged through by some of the defenders.

Templar watched in silent agony as the two captains rushed over to their fallen men, their cries sending stabs of pain through his heart.

_End of chapter. _

_----------_

3

The bloodshed continued. In front of him a burly dremora in daedric armour was the first to reach Merandil, aiming a massive axe-blow at the guard's head. Merandil dodged and cut him down immediately, but two more daedra followed close behind. One slipped and fell on the layer of corpses that now covered the ground, and was stabbed in the side by a legionnaire. The other managed a wild sweep with his sword before he was stunned by a blow from a shield, and half-beheaded.

"Swap ranks!"

----------

"Shit. Where do we go?" Llarian asked frustratedly. They were standing in a small courtyard, ringed by several low storehouses.

Jesan stopped to listen for a moment. The sounds of distant fighting drifted over to them from the right. He jogged into an alleyway which ended in a small door. He kicked it open and found himself in a stable. A few horses were standing in the stalls, tossing their heads nervously.

"At least something's alive. That's a good sign. That means there's no daedra in this area of the castle."

Jesan and Llarian stepped past the pens and back out into the rain.

"Okay. Which way now?" Jesan tried to listen, but the horses behind him wouldn't be quiet.

Suddenly, he saw a fireball soar into the sky, several buildings distant. He thought he could see the wall if he looked carefully enough.

"There. Let's go."

----------

Templar cleaved his sword into a scamp's shoulder. Beside him, Luthar attacked, his sword hacking and plunging. He killed a clannfear with two dazzling cuts.

Templar desperately hurled himself backwards, stumbling into Merandil behind him, as an arcing claw from the right sliced through his shoulderguard, piercing the steel. He leapt up and skewered its owner through the armpit. The he was being forced backwards by the attack of a dremora warrior. The daedra slashed at his face, but Templar blocked with his shield, jolting his arm. He hacked back, but the daedra hammered his blade aside and stepped in to crash a fist into Templar's jaw.

_Fricking ow!_

He staggered, but recovered to block the downward sweep of the dremora's broadsword on his shield. A guardsman ran in to help. The daedra raised his broadsword again and brought it curving towards them both in a massive sweep. Templar ducked low and the guard swayed backwards. Unbalanced, the daedra tried to recover but Templar leapt up and brought his shield smashing down on the huge warrior's head. Then the guard – Templar noticed that it was Matius – brought his sword up two-handed and drove it into the dremora's back. Then he had to turn hurriedly to face another attack.

_Why do you suppress your true nature, human? Does it give you pleasure?_

_Because it is right, demon. Let us leave it at that._

There were voices, a woman and a man. They weren't any of the guards, so it was probably some sort of hallucination. Again. Although this one wasn't too violent, which was a nice change, if you could call unwanted hallucinations 'nice.'

"Swap ranks!"

As Merandil rushed forwards Templar examined the cut on his shoulder. He brought his arm up and let the blue magic flow, watching the wound close up, the skin joining together.

Then he turned to the long scratch on his forearm which he had received from, well… from some stupid monster, anyway. The blue magic flared again, flowing over his body. Then he had to stop momentarily and dodge a fireball, which flashed past Matius' side. The guard captain winced as his skin turned bright red. Templar sighed. "Here. Hold your arm out." The blue magic streamed from his fingers…

----------

The sounds of fighting were louder now. Jesan thought he could hear his Captain's voice occasionally shouting a command. Or maybe it was Luthar. Either way, they were getting closer. Funny. It had looked so near when they had entered the tower…

He tripped over a bush and brought his mind back to the present. They were now threading their way through a garden, the dark green leaves forming menacing shadows in the moonlight. Ahead of him, Llarian was stepping across a bridge that arched over a tiny stream. Then they followed a gravel path that wound its way under some large trees, before it ended in a gate.

"It's locked, before you ask," Llarian said. "But I'm sure we can climb over it."

He hoisted himself up, finding footholds on the wooden crossbeams. Jesan went behind, a little unsteadily. As he vaulted over the top, he recognised where they were.

"Great! We're on the main road. This leads straight from the gatehouse to the castle, and everything else branches off it. We must have been going in circles before to be this far away." It was a wide, paved street, walls rising up on either side, which ran arrow-straight in either direction. They could make out the castle to their right, while the gatehouse was a few hundred metres the other way.

They began running off towards the gates as another fireball rocketed up into the rain.

----------

Matius grunted at him as they fought. "Can't – be long – now. They've been gone – a fair while… uh!" He blocked a particularly vicious blow with his sword.

"Ah," Templar exhaled back. "That is optimism. That – is good. But," he paused to kick a scamp in the chest, "probably misplaced. My – arm is getting – bloody – TIRED!" he shouted, smashing his sword into a clannfear's frill, not having much effect.

"Me too," Matius added. "But – I see that your helmet is particularly nice."

"What?" Templar asked, bewildered, almost missing the cut that came flying at his head. He leaned backwards as the blade whooshed past his nose. "My helmet?"

"Yes. The one of the bloke at the back there" – Matius pointed his sword at a daedra about three metres in front of them – "is also quite spectacular. Spikes and – everything."

Templar found himself with no opponent as the daedra withdrew briefly, a situation which would only last for a second or two, and took the opportunity to distract himself. "Oh, but I do like yours, Matius. It was a workmanlike quality about it that I find particularly appealing."

Behind him, Merandil groaned in despair. "I think I speak for everyone," he said slowly, "when I say: are you two going to weep salty tears of admiration over a helmet all night, or do we have business to attend to?"

----------

Jesan and Llarian skidded to a stop in the gatehouse courtyard, and looked through the lowered portcullis.

"Oh," said Jesan.

"Damn," said Llarian.

They ran around to the gatehouse door and raced inside, pausing to look out onto the drawbridge.

_- armour clanged - _

_- swords slashed – _

_- bows twanged - _

_- shields crashed -_

Jesan blinked as he realised that the men they'd left behind were struggling to hold the drawbridge against a sprawling mass of daedra. There were at least fifty of the beasts, and the dead were piled up against the front line of defenders. Metal clashed. Men shouted. He watched, shocked, at the brutality and hopelessness and suddenness of it all. The ten guards were blocking the drawbridge in a fierce line, refusing to give any ground, with two of them standing back and firing arrows into the enemy. He saw Lieutenant Luthar cut down a clannfear with a vicious swipe.

"I had no idea it as this bad," he murmured, unable to do anything but stare.

Matius noticed them from his position on the drawbridge and whirled around. "Get the gate open!" Beside him, Templar yelled out. "Seconded!"

Jesan rushed over to the wheel the raised the gates and grabbed hold, twisting it to the right. It began to creak, inching around, faster and faster. The iron portcullis began to rise, disappearing into a slot in the roof.

Outside, the battle continued. Llarian winced as he saw one Kvatch guard go down with a deep gash in his leg, to be quickly dragged out of the way and replaced by another fighter. One defender, another Kvatch guard, was already dead, propped up against the drawbridge's side.

The gate creaked upwards, bit by bit.

_How the hell did _this_ happen?_

Only twenty minutes ago they'd left to open the gates, and now their companions were battling a horde of demons.

Now the bars were about halfway up. "Hey!" Llarian yelled. "Get ready to come through!"

Lieutenant Luthar called out from his place in the first line of defenders. "Okay, men! Start retreating, one step at a time! Archers first, and don't trip over anything!"

Slowly, the two fighters that had been serving as archersstepped down from their positions and began walking backwards, careful to keep facing the daedric horde. As if sensing that their quarry were about to escape, the dremoras and scamps and clannfears renewed their assault. The defensive line began to buckle a little in the middle as a couple of clannfears smashed into one guard's shield.

"Second line of defenders, retreat! Take the wounded with you."

More of the defenders stepped back, leaving only a single line of four between safety and Oblivion. Merandil grunted as a scamp slammed into his shield and swung back quickly. It ducked, lancing out with a claw across his forearm. The guard quickly recovered, shield held high. The two archers had now ducked under the dangling portcullis and were leaning, breathing heavily, on the bumpy stone walls.

Kenith suddenly appeared, Vonius leaning on his shoulder and limping heavily. Blood ran freely down his leg. Back on the drawbridge, Lieutenant Luthar dodged a fireball and told the line to retreat. One clannfear jumped clean over the defenders and landed on the corpse-filled cobbles behind them, but was quickly downed by Tierra and Jesan's arrows as they fired from inside the gatehouse.

Llarian felt an arrow hiss past his head and saw that a squad of dremora archers had rushed out of a side street, joining the force already gathered there. The remaining soldiers began to edge backwards. _It's almost ridiculous_, the legionnaire thought,_ that four men are holding back… that_. Behind him, Jesan yelled out as he felt the wheel lock into position, holding the gate open.

In the front line, Lieutenant Luthar batted aside a sword-thrust, then brought his blade down on a dremora's neck. He dragged the weapon clear in time to parry a slashing cut. A fireball brushed the edge of his shield, missing his head by a foot. His sword lunged forward and twisted, disemboweling an attacker, who fell snarling at his feet. He threw his shield up to block a murderous leap, then slashed his blade high through the air, braining a dremora who had lost his helm. He felt a searing pain in his leg and saw that he'd stepped over a half-dead scamp as he'd retreated, which was trying to drag him to the ground. He plunged his sword into the thing's neck.

Llarian saw one guard stumble on a corpse as he backed away and fall to the ground. Then, an arrow sped out of nowhere and slammed into the guard's thigh.

The legionnaire turned to Jesan. "Stay here and help the others." Then he sprinted out onto the drawbridge, towards the fallen guardsman.

The stones were covered in a watery mixture of rain, sweat and blood, and had black pockmarcks here and there from where fireballs had hit them. He dodged past the body of a clannfear, which was still waving its arms weakly. Suddenly, another arrow whistled by his ear. He ducked instinctively and slid to a stop beside the injured guardsman, using a small pile of dead scamps as cover.

"You okay?" he asked breathlessly. The guard nodded back weakly. "Clean wound. Bit of magic should mend it."

"Okay then. Let's get you out of here." Llarian grabbed the guard's shoulders and began to drag him to safety. He saw a dremora take aim with its bow, but then two arrows and a fireball whizzed past from the other direction and slammed into its chest. _Thank you_, he said silently. A shape flitted past him, and he saw Lieutenant Luthar sprinting for the gates, last defender to get inside.

He was almost there; he could hear the two archers calling out targets to each other. Then he felt a sudden dryness above him, a break from the endless rain that plagued the city. He looked up, and saw the portcullis over his head. Then he looked back, and saw there was a couple of clannfears barely three metres away.

Captain Matius saw him go through and yelled out to Jesan. "Close the gate! Quickly!" The guard hauled the wheel the other way, and the gate began to descend, gears clanking.

The two clannfears ducked under it and leapt at the assembled guards. Pandemonium reigned as the two beasts lashed out in all directions, a confused mess of arms and weapons.

Jesan flinched as an arrow zipped past and clattered off the far wall. He saw Llarian stand up, and then an arrow punched into the legionnaire's neck.

"Shit!"

"Will somebody hurry up and kill this damn thing!"

"No!" Jesan realised that the last shout was his, as his companion slumped to the floor, unnoticed in the chaos.

----------

Lieutenant Luthar fell to the floor gratefully, wiping his slippery hands. "And that's that," he sighed. "The castle should be relatively empty."

"Maybe," Captain Matius replied doubtfully. "Kenith, see if you can patch anyone up. Ilend's leg is pretty messy, but Merandil's arrow wound should be alright. If anyone else can heal, now's your chance."

"Yes, but it would be good if everyone was still alive," Merandil answered.

"Llarian died while saving my life, you know."

"And Berich died while trying to save mine," Vonius added quietly.

"Well, that means that two more will be dining in the Hall of Heroes tonight," Matius said.

"Hall of Heroes?" Merandil asked. "I just wished they were still here. That's all."

"Me too," Matius replied. "Me too."

_End of chapter. _


	19. The Count of Kvatch

_Author's Note: I'm really aching to get back to the more light-hearted tone of the first ten or so chapters. Oh well, all of the misery and death is finished after this (at least until we get back to Weynon Priory), so it should be good._

_Kvatch seems to be quite a bit bigger this time. Let's say that the town is maybe 6 x 6km, while the castle complex is around 500 x 500m, and the actual castle is 200 x 200m. I'm pretty sure the Count wasn't married, either, but in here he is._

The Count of Kvatch

_**Castle Kvatch, Mount Kvatch, The Colovian Highlands, Last Seed 30 3E433**_

_It's better to light a flamethrower than to curse the darkness._

"Home straight now."

"Yep."

"Let's get these doors open."

"That's where the problem is, sir. The doors are already open."

"Well. That doesn't bode well for our chances then, does it."

The castle itself stood before them, one of the gates slightly ajar, light flickering through the gap. Templar waited anxiously as banners emblazoned with the Kvatch coast of arms flapped wetly above their heads. The rain had stopped briefly, but everything and everyone was still soaked through, which did wonders for the happiness factor.

"There's been signs of a battle," Lieutenant Luthar said. "Scorch marks. Discarded weapons."

"We'll check anyway. We've come this far." Matius put his hand on the wooded door. "Make a wish, everyone."

The door swung open, and the entrance hall was ablaze.

----------

The entrance hall was thirty metres long and fifteen metres wide, the vaulted ceiling towering above them. Four huge pillars - arranged in a central square - held up the roof, all of which had huge chunks torn out of them. One column had somehow snapped, bringing part of the ceiling down with it, and heavy lumps of stone blocked one side of the hall. The walls were made of huge stone blocks, many of which were also broken. A long purple carpet stretched down to the throne at the far end.

The stone flowerbeds in the middle of the room were home to dead plants. Braziers were placed along the walls, some of them tipped over, which had set alight the bookcases and chairs and tables that lined the sides of the hall. Piles of timber and books and smashed pottery were scattered around, burning fiercely. At the far end, the Count's carved wooden throne was set upon a raised semicircular dais. The walls rose up around it, with a set of stairs arcing upwards on either side that led further into the castle. The wolfshead flags that hung from the ceiling were stained with blood.

Four scamps were standing on the stairs, chattering to each other. The room was strangely devoid of corpses, with one or two of the Count's bodyguard slumped on the floor, accompanied by a few servants.

"Damn," said Matius, his shoulders sagging. "I've been saying that a lot lately."

"Archers, get the scamps. We'll deal with the leftovers," the Lieutenant said grimly. Templar reached for his bow, but realised that he was out of ammunition.

Jesan, Tierra and Avarran sent arrows zinging across the room. All three hit their targets, but two of the scamps stayed standing. The third keeled over, but the fourth decided to beat a hasty retreat. It began running up the stairs, dragging the two wounded with it.

Avarran drew back and fired; he missed, the arrow clattering against the steps. The two Kvatch guards hit one of the wounded scamps in the back, which tumbled over and slammed into the back of the throne.

"Gone to tell his friends, no doubt. Well, I don't think it makes a difference. We're going to kill him anyway." Matius paused. "Merandil, find a corner and stay with Vonius. It's safer."

"Aye aye, Captain."

"Oh, shut up. Everyone else, we need to get to the Count's quarters – if that's okay with you, Lieutenant?"

"Fine," he replied.

They trudged along the floor and the torn purple carpet, skirting any rubble or flames, onto the dais and up the steps, ending up in a short hallway above the throne. There was a small door at the end, flanked by brightly-glowing lanterns. Jesan pushed it open.

The next hall was similar to the previous one in size, but the roof was much lower. Eight pillars had once held up the ceiling, but now there were only two still standing. Five corridors led to other parts of the castle, two from either side and one from the far end. There was a long oak dining table down the centre of the hall, but it had been cracked in half by falling masonry.

More discarded furniture and banners lined the walls, and piles of rubble had been set alight by fallen candles and torches. A chandelier had shattered as it fell from the ceiling. Almost nothing in the room had been left unscathed. Several more corpses were scattered around, buried under debris, or cowering in the corners.

There were only three daedra in the room, a clannfear and the scamps that had escaped earlier.

"Archers, again," Matius said. "Aim for the scamps and we'll get the clannfear."

The archers pulled out their bows from where they crouched in the shadows by the doorway. A trio of arrows sped off towards the scamps, killing them instantly. The clannfear leapt towards them. Matius stepped forwards to meet it, but –

_Thwack – ugh!_

_- _he misjudged it and the clannfear bowled him over onto his back It landed over his chest before -

_Shing!_

- Lieutenant Luthar stabbed it through the neck with his longsword. The Captain got to his feet.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I think we're all a little tired at the moment."

"Yes. I think we are."

"Well. We'd better check the corridors. On the left there's the servant's dining hall and sleeping quarters, and to the right there's the library and kitchens. At the far end is the Count's quarters. I thought the castle might be still secure, but… I dunno. I think I've just about run out of hope."

"Well, at least we can be prepared the next time this happens," Luthar replied. "I don't think this is a one-off occasion. If this is the beginning of an invasion, well, the Empire's in for some hard times."

_And Martin is the key, _Templar thought.

"We'd best split up," Luthar said. "Avarran and Jesan can take the sleeping quarters, Tierra and the Captain will take the dining area, and Templar and I can take the library. Let's go, people."

As the others trooped off, Luthar leant down and whispered in his ear. "I want to talk to you," he said quietly.

----------

The hallway to the servant's quarters contained one daedra, which was swiftly dealt with. Jesan sidled up to the door and held up three fingers.

_"Three…two…one…now!"_

The guard kicked the door open and rushed into the room, Avarran following close behind.

A few scamps, a few humans. All of them dead. Sheets torn, cupboards toppled, chests opened. Soot-blackened walls.

Jesan sighed. "When will this ever end?"

----------

Captain Matius and Tierra scanned the dining room briefly, looking for any signs of life.

They found nothing.

----------

Templar and Luthar found their path blocked by ruble from floor to ceiling. Templar was about to turn back when the legionnaire put a hand on his shoulder. "Wait."

Templar turned. "What? The hallway's blocked. Can't get past. Let's go."

"I know you," Luthar said. "I was on guard duty in the Imperial prison a few days ago, and _you_ were one of the prisoners."

Templar winced. "Uhhhh…"

"Answer me."

"Yes," Templar sighed. "Yes I was."

"Now, people in that particular cell block have usually done something no sane man would do. Something very bad. And on that particular day, I saw the Emperor enter your cell. And the day after that, the Emperor was found dead. This doesn't really bode well for you, does it?"

"Uh – I can explain," Templar replied quickly. "The Emperor came to use one of the secret passages under the city, which happened to be in my cell, because, you know, his sons had just been assassinated. He found me there, and decided to take me along with him. We were making our way through when were attacked by members of a religious cult or something, and one of them managed to kill the Emperor. I escaped with one of the Emperor's Blades and am now doing what he told me to do before he died, which is find Martin, a priest that lived here, and take him to Weynon Priory. You can ask the leader of the monks there if you want. He'll tell you the same thing. Or the Blade that was with me at the time. Baurus, his name was"

There was a pause.

"It would be good to breathe once in a while." The Lieutenant smiled cynically. "I am now somewhat less suspicious of you, since I believe nobody could make that stuff up. And you have done nothing but help. But – I may just check up on you."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I have enough demons to deal with already."

"I agree with you there. Now, how about we go back and join the others?"

----------

"Nothing?" the Lieutenant asked as they gathered again.

"Nothing."

"Nothing."

"Well, that leaves two. Jesan and Avarran can go together again and take the kitchen. The rest of you, we'll take the Count's quarters. Follow me."

Templar found himself leading the way around the corridor. There were two more of the castle guards lying dead in the centre, along with a servant that had been huddling behind them. He had to clamber over a pile of furniture that blocked half the hall. He turned the corner and –

_CHRAEERAAGH!_

A scamp slammed into him, smashing him to the ground. A claw rushed towards him – he twisted sideways, and it slashed the ground by his head. Another blow – he raised his sword, which flew from his grip as he parried – sparks flew – them the daedra's other hand came down, which he blocked with his shield – more sparks – then he lashed out with his right hand, punching the scamp as hard as he could in the jaw. It flew backwards, reeling, and he kicked it in the chest with a steel boot.

He felt around for his sword and got to his feet. "Was any help forthcoming, then? No?"

Luthar raised his hand. "I was getting my sword out, but it got stuck in the scabbard. I killed the clannfear on top of Matius last time, so everyone sort of expected me to – "

"Just as well you weren't the one being attacked then. Shall we continue?"

Templar cautiously opened the door to the Count's quarters at the end of the corridor.

He found himself in a small parlour, a few chairs and tables and display cases scattered around, their contents strewn across the floor. A candelabra had fallen from the ceiling, and the carpet was beginning to smoulder. The other guards filed in behind him.

Matius pushed ahead and opened the next door. A scamp stood by the bed, which he killed with a quick sword-thrust.

The Count's bedroom was fairly small, with small rooms for his wife and children on either side. There was also a bathroom and a study. Paintings had been torn off the walls, and there was a giant pile of flaming wood in the far corner. The bed was sitting at a strange angle, and hundreds of gold coins were speckled across the stone floor.

"Oh, no. Oh, no."

A man and woman lay together on the floor, each killed with a sword-thrust to the heart. Their expensive clothes were stained with blood and ash.

"Dad?"

Matius knelt down and took the Count's hand, pulling off the signet ring.

"Dad?"

Tierra whirled around. "Did someone just say 'dad?' "

"Can I come out now?"

"What is that?" Matius asked. He kissed the Countess' hand for the last time, and stood up.

"Hell-_oooo_? Is anyone here?"

It was a muffled, high voice.

"It's coming from over there," Luthar said, pointing at a corner. There was nothing but a chair and a chest.

Kenith rushed past and stopped in front of the chest, throwing the lid open. A little brown-haired boy climbed out, shaking the dust from his clothes.

"I'm hungry," he said softly.

Matius stared at him.

"Well…"


	20. New Beginnings

_Author's Note: Doesn't the count have a pretty stupid name? Anyway, enjoy. These chapters are kind of short, but it means I can update more frequently. And I've got school holidays as well, which gives me a ton of free time._

_I also couldn't decide whether a particular character lives or dies, so you get a choice. I thought it was too depressing if he died, and too soppy if he lived, so you get to choose. Are you feeling happy or sad today?_

_The next chapter may take a little longer, because I have to do all of the friendship, talky stuff. And I want to get it right. _

New Beginnings

_**Castle Kvatch, Mount Kvatch, The Colovian Highlands, Last Seed 30 3E433**_

"Ummm…" Matius stood there, staring.

"Where _is_ dad?" the boy asked.

Tierra surreptitiously stepped to the right, to block the boy's view.

"Ah - he's away right now," Matius said carefully. He gulped. "What's your name?"

"Ormellius Goldwine the second," the boy said proudly. "Dad told me to hide in the box and not to come out for anyone, but… it was getting a bit squished."

"Well, I'll be damned," Luthar said. "We're standing in front of the new Count of Kvatch. At least there's one good thing about this while wretched affair."

"Small compensation," Matius said unhappily.

Suddenly, Templar felt the floor rumble. Dust trickled down from the ceiling. He looked up. "Uh, guys. Hate to interrupt, but the roof looks kind of unsafe at the moment."

"He's right," Kenith added. "How many pillars were holding up the last hall – two out of eight?"

"Okay. Let's get going." Matius grabbed the boy's arm. "Whatever you do, don't let go. We'll get you out of here, okay?" He began hurrying back towards the corridor. The walls shook again, hairline cracks appearing in the stone. Someone up the back began coughing in the dust. "Damn, I can't see a thing back here!"

The six of them began jogging up the hallway. "Can't we just wait for the roof to collapse? We can just climb up to the second floor and get out that way," Kenith said as another rumble shook the foundations of the castle.

"No, idiot," Tierra replied wearily. "That means the second floor would collapse too, because there's nothing for it to stand on. And the third floor. And the fourth floor. And then we'd be buried under ten metres of rock."

"Right. Whoops."

As Matius turned the corner he almost ran smack-bang into Jesan and Avarran. They were breathing heavily, and Jesan was leading a terrified young woman in servant's clothes by the hand.

"Who's this?" Matius asked.

"Her name's Holly. We found her hiding in the laundry chute. Who's that?"

"The Count's son," the Captain replied. "Now come on."

They began threading their way through the rubble.

_CRAAACK!_

One of the remaining pillars at the far end of the hall began to topple, unable to take the huge stress any longer. It fell, faster and faster, until in smacked into the floor with a ponderous _whump!_ Clouds of soot and dust billowed out from the impact.

Matius squinted at the door, twenty metres away. "Faster, people."

_Bang!_

A fist-sized chunk of rock bounced off Templar's shoulder. He looked up at the ceiling, and dived to the right. A bit of stone archway slammed into the ground where he'd been standing moments before. He blinked rapidly to clear the grit from his eyes. "Is it just me, or is the roof sagging behind us – "

"What's happening?" the boy asked.

c_rick-crick-crickcrickcrickcrick_

A long fissure began to appear down the centre of the ceiling. More fragments of stone began to drop from above.

"Stick together and RUN!" Luthar roared.

_Bang!-Bang!-Bang!-_

Stone began to drop from the ceiling behind them in larger and larger chunks. The seven guards sprinted off down the centre of the hallway. Ahead of him, Matius tripped over a chair, but righted himself and kept on running, dragging the boy with him. He flinched as some rubble smashed into the floor to his left.

_ROOOAR!_

The walls began the buckle. The roof behind them collapsed in one huge thunderous roar, debris tumbling everywhere. Templar could see furniture from the floor above them skidding down. The group was suddenly enveloped in thick dust. Templar saw sparks blaze a few metres ahead of him as a chunk of wreckage hit one of the fires. The silhouette of the guard closest to it recoiled briefly but kept stumbling forwards, over another pile of ruined furniture. He felt someone next to him and saw the Lieutenant overtake him. The legionnaire grabbed his arm and pulled him along, dodging unseen obstacles through the choking dust.

Suddenly, they reached the end of the hall. The rest of the guards were there already.

"Someone get a torch out, will you? I can't see the door in this damn dust!"

Templar formed a fireball in his hand and held it aloft. "Here."

Matius sidestepped some falling masonry and gripped the doorhandle. He pulled it open.

_WHOOOSH!_

A jet of flame rushed out at them before quickly dissipating. The hallway ahead of them was almost completely ablaze, but was mercifully not in the process of falling down on them.

"Go!" Matius held the door open as they rushed through, trying to keep as far away from the dancing flames as possible. They emerged into the entrance hall, in the hall above the throne. The room was rumbling ominously. "Vonius! Merandil! Get out of here!"

_ROOOOAR!_

Suddenly, most the roof ahead of them began to crash to the ground. Templar winced as a cloud of splinters shot past him._ BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

"We've got a few seconds before the roof collapses!" Matius began scrambling up the pile of rubble. Most of the second floor was still standing, with only the section ahead of them having fallen. Templar cursed as he was once again enveloped in dust. A whole pillar slammed into the rock a couple of metres to the side; his teeth rattled with the impact. One of his steel gauntlets got caught on a metal bar. He pulled it off and kept going, oblivious to the cuts on his unprotected hand.

He emerged from the dust and found himself on the second floor. A couple more guards came up behind him.

It appeared to be a ballroom, and the floor was covered in polished wooden boards. Only the walls held up the roof, which happily meant that it wouldn't be collapsing for a while yet. Templar noticed that Jesan was cradling his arm gently. "Broken," he muttered, gritting his teeth.

"I apologise, Kenith," Tierra said.

"Apology accepted," the guard replied. He looked around and got his bearings. "Okay. This way. Am I right, Captain?" Matius nodded.

Kenith began walking to a door at the far end of the room.

"Oh well, thank the gods that's over-"

_CRASH!_

The floor fell out from under them. Templar caught a glimpse of Kenith tumbling to the floor below before he himself was caught up in a flailing mess of arms and debris.

He thwacked into the ground and paused for a second, winded, before he got to his feet. His ears rang; he saw Matius shouting something but couldn't hear what he was saying. He stood up.

_BOOM!_

Hearing returned. "Everyone! Get to the doors!"

Templar obliged. His scabbard tangled uncomfortably with his leg, and he had to shield his head with his arms, but he still ran. The roof ahead was now a pockmarked mess, with more sections falling every second.

Matius reached the doors first. He pulled them open, and pushed the boy out into the night. Luthar came to a stop next to him, panting heavily.

"Uh-oh," the legionnaire said worryingly.

"What?"

"That pillar. It's about to fall and bring the roof with it. The others won't be able to get out in time."

Kenith staggered through the doors. Merandil and Vonius were slowly limping their way towards safety about ten metres back, while the rest of the guards were further still. The servant they'd found appeared to be unconscious, and Avarran had her draped over one shoulder.

The pillar in question was tilting slightly because of the most recent collapse, cracks appearing at the top and bottom.

Luthar groaned. "Wish me luck."

He clambered out over the floor and ran to the base of the pillar, ten metres from the door. The legionnaire leant up against it, pushing with all his might. More cracks appeared. The pillar began to tilt further, despite the Lieutenant's struggling. With a whoosh, the banners that hung from the walls caught fire, giving the scene an eerie, flickering light.

Templar took Vonius' other shoulder and began helping him towards the door with Merandil. Jesan and Avarran made it and rushed out into the open air, while Matius continued to hold the doors. "Come on, come on…" Behind him, a flock of ravens rocketed into the air as another boom reverberated through the castle.

The pillar kept tilting. It was now fifteen degrees from vertical. Luthar kept pushing backwards, trying to make it stay upright a moment longer.

The last three were only a few metres from the doors. They stumbled along, closer and closer, until –

Matius looked back and saw the Lieutenant still struggling with the column. It was slanting dangerously, threatening to give way.

"Lieutenant! Come one! Everyone's through!"

"Get – arrgh – out, Captain! And that's an order!"

Matius saw the other remaining pillar began to topple, on the other side of the room, and watched out as the Lieutenant mouthed out a single word.

_Go._

Matius stretched out a hand –

And dived out through the doors as the roof came tumbling down.

----------

They sat on the cold, wet cobbles of the castle road, taking shelter under the overhang of one of the buildings. The boy shivered; Holly got up and sat next to him, huddling together. A couple of the guards began to doze off.

"Where's the Lieutenant?" Avarran asked. "Or is he… back there." He gestured at the castle gates.

Matius nodded wearily.

"What?"

"No! He can't be!"

"How-"

"He stopped the roof from collapsing so the rest of us could get out," the Captain sighed. "I had my doubts about him at first, but he was truly…"

"A great man," Jesan finished. "An Imperial Legionnaire."

"Yes. A great man."

They sat for a while. "Well, eventually someone'll get here."

"Wait. Is that fighting I hear?" Kenith cocked his head. Sure enough, the occasional shout or sword slash could be heard over the wind.

"Yeah, it is," Merandil replied. "I don't really want to find out what it is, though."

"Fine by me. But I think we'd better have a look." Matius pushed himself to his feet and stretched with a groan. "Oh, I'll have some serious bruises in the morning."

"Luthar will have more," Tierra said.

"Yeah, well. All the better reason to go and see what the disturbance is, isn't it?"

Everyone stood up, some more slowly than others. They trooped off down the path, towards the gatehouse.

"So, Holly…" Jesan began. "What's your story?"

The woman shrugged. "I'm a servant. Not much to tell. But I'd rather not talk about it at the moment."

"Oh. Sure."

They descended into moody silence.

"She's _reeealy_ nice," the Count said happily. "She gives me chocolate."

Holly smiled faintly. Jesan looked at her briefly, and then stared blankly ahead.

Suddenly, Avarran grinned. "That's Major Traywood. Loudest man that ever lived. I can hear him from here."

Templar listened. "_…is that all you got, you sons' of bitches!..._" drifted to him over the wall. "I believe you're right. Does that mean the Legion is here?"

"Yes it does," Avarran replied happily.

As they reached the gatehouse, Templar saw hundreds of steel-armoured sword-toting legionnaires doing their best to kill every daedra in sight. They moved with practiced precision, decimating the unorganized demons in small, mobile squads.

A man that Templar assumed to be the Major stopped in front of the lowered portcullis. "Well, Avarran me boy. It seems that you've been making yourself useful!" he gestured at the layer of corpses that covered the drawbridge.

"Yes. You could say that." He smiled. "Took your damn time getting here, didn't you."

_If you liked Titanic, pick No. 1._

_If you liked, I dunno, Saving Private Ryan, pick No. 2. It's not a big change, but it's there._

_----------_

1

They stood upon the ramparts, gazing out over the sea of heads that filled the square. The last of the fires had almost died away, and the first of the cleanup crews were already beginning to move in. A few more survivors had been found scattered around the city, and had been herded to the refugee camp out on the hillside. Holly and Orwellius – Templar still chuckled when he heard the name – were still with them, deciding to stay a moment longer. Everything was finally beginning to dry up, and the streets gleamed and sparkled with the last remnants of the night's rain. The ruins almost looked peaceful until you noticed the giant pile of daedric corpses by the Chapel. Templar thought he could see the snowy city of Bruma if he squinted hard enough – or maybe it was just his imagination. Either way, he could see a damn long way.

"Ah, three hundred Imperial legionnaires. I never thought there could be such a beautiful sight." Matius breathed in deeply, and coughed as he inhaled a passing cloud of smoke.

"I wish Berich and Llarian were here to see it. And Lieutenant Luthar." Vonius said what they'd all been thinking.

"Ah, yes. Luthar. They dug him out of the rubble an hour ago."

"And?"

"He was alive."

Everyone shouted out at once. "_What?_" "WTF?" "_How?_"

"Yes. He said that, quote, 'we shouldn't have given up on him that easily, and he would've appreciated being rescued a couple of hours earlier. He was rather cramped.'"

"Ah," Merandil sighed, "I knew he was a tough old bastard."

"He is indeed," Matius replied.

They lapsed into contemplative silence. A bird began to sing in the distance.

"You know," the Captain said thoughtfully, "I may just give up guarding after this."

"What? You can't do that. You're only, what, twenty-five?" Jesan asked, surprised.

"Hah! If only I were. But, no, I'm forty-five. And that's getting a bit old to be cavorting around with you lot, isn't it?"

"Well, I'm forty, and I don't intend giving up for another twenty years," said a voice from behind them.

Matius whirled around. "Lieutenant! That was quick. How did you ever convince sickbay to let you out?"

The guards ran over and crowded around him with shouts of joy, trying not to touch the numerous bandages and splints that covered his body.

"I told them there were some more daedra attacking. In the confusion I snuck out the back."

"Fair enough. How did you get up here?"

"I flew," the Lieutenant replied, not batting an eyelid.

Matius stared at him for a moment. "Well. I suppose Vonius got up here with a leg wound. And Jesan got up here with a broken arm. Sooo…"

"Seriously," the Lieutenant continued, "why give up guarding?"

"I want to do something _good_ with my life, you know what I mean?" Not just… tell people off for parking their horse in the wrong spot all day long."

"Oh, you _do_ do good things with your life, Captain. I think the last twelve hours have proved that, of all things."

"But… I'd also like to settle down. Get a wife, have a few kids… I've always wanted a farm up near Cheydinhal." Matius grinned, embarrassed.

"Awwww…"

"Why? Stay here."

"Don't be a wuss."

Matius raised his hand, calling for silence. "No buts. I'm retiring, and that's the end of it. I'll tie up all the loose ends before I go, of course, but… that'll be it for Guard Captain Matius." He sighed.

"Why the sigh, Captain?" Tierra asked. "But I hear that changing babies' nappies is one of the joys of parenting."

"Hah," the Captain muttered again.

And then the sun rose, peeking through the trees, bathing the city of Kvatch in the light of a new day.

----------

2

They stood upon the ramparts, gazing out over the sea of heads that filled the square. The last of the fires had almost died away, and the first of the cleanup crews were already beginning to move in. A few more survivors had been found scattered around the city, and had been herded to the refugee camp out on the hillside. Holly and Orwellius – Templar still chuckled when he heard the name – were still with them, deciding to stay a moment longer. Everything was finally beginning to dry up, and the streets gleamed and sparkled with the last remnants of the night's rain. The ruins almost looked peaceful until you noticed the giant pile of daedric corpses by the Chapel. Templar thought he could see the snowy city of Bruma if he squinted hard enough – or maybe it was just his imagination. Either way, he could see a damn long way.

"Ah, three hundred Imperial legionnaires. I never thought there could be such a beautiful sight." Matius breathed in deeply, and coughed as he inhaled a passing cloud of smoke.

"I wish Berich and Llarian were here to see it. And Lieutenant Luthar." Kenith said what they'd all been thinking.

"Ah, yes. Luthar. They dug him out of the rubble an hour ago."

"And?"

"I suppose we can only remember his sacrifice."

Templar saw Berich die in his mind. He saw Llarian struck down. He saw their corpses, stacked up against the gatehouse wall. He remembered the rubble falling from the ceiling, the choking dust, the deafening rumbles.

But then he remembered Berich's smile, Llarian's jokes, the Lieutenant's last, strangely peaceful words.

"I think some sort of memorial in the guardhouse would be appropriate. Not for the city; just a little private one of our own."

They lapsed into contemplative silence. Avarran seemed particularly dispirited, (unsurprisingly) and sat alone, a couple of metres away from the others. Templar got up and plonked himself next to the legionnaire.

"You know," the Captain said thoughtfully, "I may just give up guarding after this."

"What? You can't do that. You're only, what, twenty-five?" Tierra asked, surprised.

"Hah! If only I were. But, no, I'm forty-five. And that's getting a bit old to be cavorting around with you lot, isn't it?"

Someone spoke up from behind them. "Not really, Captain. Remember two weeks ago? Tiredas night? The… lady of affections… said you were quite vigorous."

The captain whirled around. "Ilend! Jesan! That was quick. How did you ever convince sickbay to let you out?"

The guards ran over and crowded around the pair. Jesan had to fend off people that tried to pat him on the shoulder.

"We told them a fire had broken out in the next tent. In the confusion we snuck out the back."

"Fair enough."

"Seriously," Vonius continued, "why give up guarding?"

"I want to do something _good_ with my life, you know what I mean?" Not just… kick beggars out of alleys all day long."

"Oh, you _do_ do good things with your life, Captain. We all do. Last night proved that, I think."

"But… I'd also like to settle down. Get a wife, have a few kids… I've always wanted a farm up near Cheydinhal." Matius grinned, embarrassed.

"Awwww…"

"Why? Stay here."

"Kids are overrated."

Matius raised his hand, calling for silence. "No buts. I'm retiring, and that's the end of it. I'll tie up all the loose ends before I go, of course, but… that'll be it for Guard Captain Matius." He sighed. "As I heard someone say once, 'remember the dead – but fight for the living.' I think that covers it quite nicely."

And then the sun rose, piercing the clouds, bathing the city of Kvatch in light. They remembered the past, the bad times and the good times – but also looked ahead to the future, to the endless possibilities that a new day brings.

----------


	21. A Bit of Convincing

_Author's Note: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from me. I suppose this a present to all of you. While I probably won't get fifty reviews by 100,000 words, I might get forty, which would be nice (hint hint)._

_I will try to finish the story, because otherwise it seems I'll be strangled by Tamarani (see reviews). And I will try to make it kickass. At the current rate of updating, it will take another two years or so, and another 49 chapters (assuming my plan doesn't change). But it's been great so far._

_The multiple-choice bit in this chapter seems a bit disjointed, probably because I took it directly from the game. But it's all in the name of variety..._

_Note: 'Inebrit' refers to a certain drunk person. And yes, Templar does call Martin a turtle._

_EDIT: I've always wondered why there aren't more roads in Oblivion. You'd think that in a highly-developed Empire there'd be roads connecting all the cities, but obviously not. I'm fond of changing things, so now there are a few extra roads scattered around the place (e.g. directly connecting Skingrad and Chorrol). In short, I intend to make the world more logical._

A Bit of Convincing

_**The Kvatch Crisis Refugee Camp, Mount Kvatch, The Colovian Highlands, Hearthfire 1 3E433**_

Martin walked along the edge of the temporary camp that had been set up for the survivors, legionnaires and work crews. It was three hundred tents large, and still growing – although only fifty of those tents were for the survivors. The camp sprawled along one entire face of Mount Kvatch, and the hillside teemed with life. But now it was night-time, and most were asleep.

Many of the survivors had started trying to drown their sorrows after the attack, in mug after mug of beer. A few had chosen death. It would be a long time before the city of Kvatch grew to its former glory. There had been half-hearted celebrations after the gate was closed, in honour of the 'heroes' of Kvatch, but… it wasn't really the same.

He passed a group of men playing cards around a small fire, and kept walking. Then he stopped abruptly, and almost ran into someone else in the darkness. The man's breath stank of ale, and he swayed unsteadily as he walked. He tottered over to a brown horse that had been tethered to a stump by one of the tents, and attempted to clamber onto its back.

"I hope you're not planning on riding that," Martin said sternly, gesturing at the animal.

The man whirled around. "Nope."

_Where have I seen him before?_

"Alright then." Martin kept on walking, towards the healer's tent on the other side of the encampment. It was one in the morning, but he was restless. He could never sleep nowadays.

Suddenly, he heard a horse neighing behind him.

_Whump-Whump-WHUMP_

Hooves raced across the ground behind him. He dived to the side just as the brown horse came cantering past. It skidded to a stop, and its rider fell to the ground.

Martin brushed himself off and walked over to where the rider lay. The man looked up at him. Sorry 'bout tha'."

The priest grabbed the rider's arm firmly and pulled him to his feet. "Now you... are coming with _me._"

----------

Martin thrust open the door of the Kvatch guardhouse and pulled the man inside. He strode up to the duty desk, which was manned by one of the old Kvatch guards.

"Almost ran me down with a horse while drunk," Martin said irritably.

The guard's eyes widened for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "Well, you're working late, Brother. Put him in cell four." He waved at the hallway to the right, and threw the priest a thick keyring.

"Thanks. It's for his own good, really. I'll be here to get him out in the morning." Martin dragged the man down the hallway, and pushed him gently into the cell.

"Oof," he grunted as he tripped over onto the bed in the corner.

Martin frowned. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The man rubbed his eyes blearily. "I have no idea. But this brings back some _really_ bad memories."

Martin frowned again. "Good night. See you in the morning." With that, he walked out of the guardhouse and back to work.

----------

Martin looked up from his stitching and glanced over at the other hospital beds. There were only a few healers there at this hour, most of them Imperial legionnaires filling in for the other priests. Because the other priests weren't there anymore. Because they had died in the Kvatch attack. His friends…

He cleared his head and drew the thread through, closing the wound. The man on the stretcher flinched a little, but didn't wake. Martin raised his hand and gave it a jolt of magic, which would accelerate the healing but not complete it. The wound was too big for that.

Like Brother Altus. The way his head slid around upon his neck. The wound had simply been too big. It had, it had, it had! There was nothing he could have done!

_Get a grip, Martin. _He moved onto the next bed. Most of the injuries now ere people who had been caught in building collapses or ambushed by the remaining daedra. But it was still hard.

He picked up a bandage and began wrapping it around and around and around…

----------

The morning sun shone brightly as Martin the priest walked through the guardhouse door. The same guard was at the desk, scribbling down notes on a sheet of parchment.

"Uh-" Martin began.

The guard looked up. "That way. Take him if you want him." He went back to writing.

Martin disappeared around the corner. The guard looked up again. "Oh, whoops. Hey! Brother Martin!"

----------

Martin stopped in front of the cell, and saw that it was miraculously devoid of drunken men. He pulled the door open. "Hey! Where's the inebrit in cell four?"

A man looked over his shoulder eagerly. "What inebrit?"

Martin turned. "You-!"

----------

Templar found himself with a splitting headache. He sat in the back room of the guardhouse, polishing his armour. Most of it couldn't be polished anymore, unfortunately. He'd have to go and see Varnado again in the Imperial City.

Imperial City?

Quest…

Martin! Jauffre! Amulet of Kings!

"Oh, damn." He stood up, and nearly sprinted over to where Jesan manned the guardhouse.

"Almost the end of the shift?" Templar asked.

"Yeah. Another hour."

"Great, well, I've got to go and see if I can find Martin the priest. Right away."

"Really?" Jesan replied suprisedly. "He just went down the corridor there."

Templar looked over to where the guard was pointing and saw a black robe flashing around the corner.

"Oh, thanks! See you later."

Templar ran off around the corner. He saw Martin open one of the cells and look inside. "Hey! Where's the inebrit in cell four?"

Templar skidded to a stop behind the priest, panting. He looked over Martin's shoulder. "What inebrit?"

The priest turned to face him. "You! Last night! And in the Chapel before the attack! And one of the… Heroes of Kvatch…"

"Me?" Templar asked, bewildered.

Jesan appeared at the end of the corridor, "I forgot to tell you," he called out. "I let him out last night. He's one of ours. An… old friend."

"What? That's no excuse! He could have seriously hurt someone! He was about to gallop through the camp, for… beer's sake!"

"Well, it probably was for beer's sake, actually." Jesan grinned.

Templar glanced around. "Uh… have I missed something here?"

Martin stuck out an arm and pointed at Templar's head. "You. Last night. Horse."

"Yeah, I actually do remember something to do with horses last night. And a lot of beer."

Suddenly, the memories came flooding back.

"Oh. Ah," he said quietly. He winced. "Was that me?"

"Yes, it was," Martin replied."

"The horse? Did I get on the horse?"

"Yes. That was you."

"Did I almost run someone over?"

"Yes. That was me."

Templar winced again. "Was I really _that_ drunk?"

"I'll vouch for that," Jesan added from the corner.

"What about before? Did I really try to have sex with the-"

"I'm afraid that I don't know about _that_," Martin interrupted, "but you were about to cause untold havoc and destruction. Not to mention making a complete and utter and fool of yourself."

"Well, you see…" Templar began hesitantly. "I have something very, very important to tell you."

There was silence.

"Has this got anything to do with what you told me earlier?" Martin asked.

"Yes."

"Well, go and tell someone else. Forgive me, but you didn't exactly make a good first impression."

"No, seriously," Templar said pleaded. "You have to listen. Jauffre, the abbot from Weynon Priory…"

_If you say, "Come with me. You're in danger," go to Block 1._

_If you say, "The Emperor told me to find you," go to Block 2._

_----------_

1

They sat on a log in a more secluded part of the camp. Martin was now in a positively foul mood, after Templar's insistence that they go somewhere secret.

Templar sighed. "You have to come with me, Martin. To Weynon Priory. You're in terrible danger, because-"

The priest laughed bitterly. "Danger, you say. You come all the way here to tell me this?"

"Martin, please, let me finish-"

The priest cut him off again. "Say what you need to say and then leave me alone. There are others here that actually need my help."

"You _are_ Brother Martin, right? Priest at the Chapel of Akatosh in Kvatch?"

"Until recently, yes." He barked out a laugh. "Yes, I'm a priest. Do you need a priest? I don't think I'll be much help to you. I'm having trouble understanding the gods right now." He looked up at the sky. "If all this is part of a divine plan, I'm not sure I want to have anything to do with it."

_If you say, "There is a plan. We're part of it," go to Block 3._

_If you say, "Gods or no gods, we need your help," go to Block 4._

_----------_

2

They sat on a log in a more secluded part of the camp. Martin was now in a positively foul mood, after Templar's insistence that they go somewhere secret.

"No, forget Jauffre at the moment. The Emperor… the Emperor told me to find you."

Martin scowled. "Hah. The Emperor is dead. How could you have spoken to him?"

"I was there, by his side when he died. He gave me the Amulet of Kings, and told me to go to Weynon Priory. Which is where I found out about you…"

"Who are you, exactly, that you were present when the Emperor died? What do you want with me?" Martin replied, a little defensively.

"You _are_ Brother Martin, right? Priest at the Chapel of Akatosh in Kvatch?"

"Until recently, yes." He barked out a laugh. "Yes, I'm a priest. Do you need a priest? I don't think I'll be much help to you. I'm having trouble understanding the gods right now." He looked up at the sky. "If all this is part of a divine plan, I'm not sure I want to have anything to do with it."

_If you say, "There is a plan. We're part of it," go to Block 3._

_If you say, "Gods or no gods, we need your help," go to Block 4._

_----------_

3

"There is a plan, Martin, and we're part of it. You, me, the Emperor… something's going on, and we have to stop it."

"What plan? What are you talking about?" Martin asked distractedly. "If I have a part in this, the Gods would tell me. But I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, and no help came. Only more daedra."

"I came," Templar said gently. "The guards came."

"Yes," Martin answered. "You came too late." He sighed. "What can you possibly know that will help me make sense of all of this?"

"I know," Templar said slowly, "that you are the Emperor's son."

"What? Emperor _Uriel Septim? _Excuse me if I don't believe you right away," the priest replied. "You think the Emperor is my _father?_"

"Yes. Jauffre said so."

"Well, he's gone mad then. You must have the wrong man – if the Emperor actually _does_ have another son. I am a priest of Akatosh. My father was a farmer, who left me on the steps of… the Chapel."

_If you say, "The daedra came here for you," go to Block 5._

_If you say, "The Emperor knew you were in danger," go to Block 6._

_----------_

4

"Gods or no gods, Martin, we need your help."

"We?" he asked skeptically.

"Me, Jauffre, Cyrodiil, the Empire. Jauffre said that it all depends on you."

"_What_ depends on me? A bit of a big responsibility, don't you think? If you came to me for help, you're more of a fool than you look. Look around you. What good is a priest?"

"You can heal. You help people. You even saved a few during the attack."

"Anyone can do that," Martin answered.

"But you were one of the only ones that actually did."

"It was my duty," Martin answered. "It was the least I could do."

"No, it wasn't. It was the _most_ you could do. So don't feel bad about it. Because you're also the Emperor's son."

"Uh – _what?! _Emperor _Uriel Septim? _Excuse me if I don't believe you right away," the priest replied. "You think the Emperor is my _father?_"

"Yes. Jauffre said so."

"Well, he's gone mad then. You must have the wrong man - if the Emperor actually _does_ have another son. I am a priest of Akatosh. My father was a farmer, who left me on the steps of… the Chapel."

_If you say, "The daedra came here for you," go to Block 5._

_If you say, "The Emperor knew you were in danger," go to Block 6._

_----------_

5

"You just don't realise it, do you? The daedra came here for you. Not for the city. Dagon knew that you would come to oppose him, so he sent his forces here to kill _you. _It's all about you, Martin. Without you, we can't do anything to stop what's happening!"

"What, the prince of Oblivion? An entire city destroyed to get at me? All of those people killed, just to destroy me… I'm sure you realise that doesn't make me feel much better," Martin said. "Why? Because I'm the Emperor's… son?" he finished, choking a little on the words.

"Yes. But why would I lie to you, Martin. Give me a reason."

"I can think of many reasons. Perhaps you are stark raving mad and deserve to be locked up in a madhouse, because someone bumped you on the head a little too hard."

"Umm," Templar began. "It's a possibility… but no. Any more suggestions?"

"I don't know… It's strange, but…" Martin sighed, a great big chest-heaver of a sigh. "I think you might be telling the truth."

_Go to the Main Story._

_----------_

6

"That's what you believe, Martin. That's what Jauffre set up, when you were still a baby. But the Emperor knew you would be put in danger, once he died, so he sent me to find you."

"Yes, you said before that you spoke to the Emperor before he died. So the Emperor knew about the attack?"

"He knew that Merhunes Dagon would want to destroy you once the Emperor himself was killed, since you were – are – the only continuation of the Septim line still alive. Only you can light the Dragonfires, and prevent Dagon from invading Cyrodiil."

"The Prince of Oblivion wants to invade? And the Emperor told you to find me? As in, Brother Martin? Light the Dragonfires, because I'm the Emperor's son?"

"Yep. But why would I lie to you, Martin. Give me a reason."

"Uh, because you want to take me out into the woods somewhere and kill me is some sort of bizarre necromancer ritual."

"Nice try, but no. Any more suggestions?"

"I don't know… It's strange, but…" Martin sighed, a great big chest-heaver of a sigh. "I think you might be telling the truth."

_Go to the Main Story._

_----------_

Main Story

"Oh, for the gods' sake, that took a while, didn't it?"

"What does it mean, then? What do you want from me?" Martin asked.

"Come with me to Weynon Priory. See Jauffre. Talk to him for more information, if you want. Even I'm not entirely sure on what this is all about."

Martin thought for a moment. "You destroyed the Oblivion Gate, they say. You gave them hope. You helped the Guard drive the daedra back." He paused, and shook his head. "What am I saying. Well done, even if you almost trampled me with a horse.'

"Yes, that would have been a setback, wouldn't it?"

Martin smiled a little. "Yes. I will come with you to Weynon Priory and hear what Jauffre has to say about all of this. That of course, doesn't mean that I'm entirely convinced. Or that I like you."

"Can't have everything. Second best news I've ever heard for… the last four days. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"It was, trust me. What was the first best?"

"When I got let out of the Imperial Prison. Go gather your things and I'll be right back. We should get going straight away." With that, Templar headed off through the tents.

"Imperial Prison?" Martin murmured. "Hey, I'm having second thoughts…" He trailed off.

But Templar was already through the guardhouse door. The rest of the guards had appeared inside, talking.

"Quiet!" Templar shouted out. The guards noticed him – and Avarran was there as well, he saw – and a hush descended.

Except for Merandil. "Did you see it?" he whispered, oblivious. "Last night Templar was about to have sex with a-"

"Ahem."

"Oh, Templar, you're back. That _was_ fun last night, wasn't it?"

"No, not really," he replied. "The headache wasn't worth it. _Anyway_, what I wanted to say was: unfortunately, I have to shoot off to Chorrol, because I've got some stuff to do. The last few days have certainly been… exciting."

""Not leaving us so soon, Templar?" Matius said.

"Yes. I have to go. It's pretty urgent. Related to the Oblivion Gate thing."

"Oh, right. One of _those_ errands. Well."

Templar thought for a moment. "Uh, is there something you wanted to tell me? You said something, on the night after Vonius and I closed the Gate."

"Uh, it's nothing," Matius replied quickly. "I'm sure it was just a one off."

"You sure? Okay. Well, I guess I'll… see you guys later then."

"Anytime you need somewhere to stay, just walk in," Kenith said. "It'd be great."

"Thanks, Kenith," Templar replied gratefully. "Oh, well, I'd best be off. Bye!"

He waved the guards for one last time. "See you, guys. Bye."

"See you, Templar!"

"We'll call you when another Gate pops up, okay? Have fun!"

"Good luck!"

He walked out the door, a little sentimental, and made his way back the priest that would save the world.

"He'd better be some sort of super kung-fu battle monk gorilla, because otherwise he is _not_ worth it."

----------

The pair of them walked along the thickly-forested Gold Road, sunlight dappling the stones beneath their feet. Martin carried a small pack over his shoulder, but had no other possessions. Templar decided that he'd have to get a pack himself, but that was for another time.

They moved aside a bit to let a couple of carriages rattle past, and then resumed walking. Templar could've cut through and gone straight to Chorrol, but decided he wanted to stop off in the Imperial city first, for a bit of shopping.

Martin seemed a little dejected, looking at his feet and not paying attention to anything else – not surprising, considering what Templar had just told him. A horse cantered past, hoofbeats fading off into the midday heat.

"Hey, Martin. You look as if I forced you to come along at knife-point or something."

The priest looked up. "What? Oh, no. I'm just thinking."

"Fair enough. I probably would've forced you to come along at knife point, really, so it's just as well you cooperated."

"Hm."

They kept walking. Up ahead a small lane branched off the main route, leading to a small settlement or perhaps a mine up in the mountains.

"So, you're… a priest of Akatosh?" Templar asked. Flies buzzed around his head, and he waved them away angrily.

"I was last time that I checked." He appeared not to be in the mood for conversation.

"I'm just trying to…" Templar trailed off. "Well. I didn't really ask for this either, you know."

"Does that make me feel better? No, it doesn't. If you don't want to be here, by all means leave. I wouldn't miss your company."

"Well, that's a bit harsh," Templar said. "I don't see _you_ being a barrel of laughs."

Martin glared at him.

Templar sighed. "I think choice is out of the equation now, anyway. We're in for the long run, whether we like it or not."

Martin was silent. Shaking his head, Templar got back to walking. A butterfly flitted past, and cicadas chirped harshly. A small breeze sprang up, giving some welcome relief from the heat. His armour was getting damn hot, _but I don't have anything to carry it with, so just be strong like your mother told you._

_My mother? Hmmm…_

Suddenly, Martin spoke up, surprising Templar a little. "Ah - I just realised I don't know your name. Templar, wasn't it?"

"Templar Estantesec. I think."

"Why the 'I think?'"

"Memory erasure."

"Ah. Well, I suppose I'm Martin… Septim, now."

"Well, it's good to finally meet you, Martin."

There was a pause. "And likewise, Templar."

They passed a small campsite by the road. _Ra'sava Camp_, said the sign. It seemed to be mainly inhabited by the catlike Khajiit, but there were a few humans scattered in among them too. Someone was doing some metalwork, the sound of an anvil ringing out over and over again.

"Want a rest?" Templar asked.

"No. May as well keep going." Templar thought the priest looked a little sweaty, but didn't mention anything. A legionnaire walked past, nodding his had in greeting.

"Pretty busy road."

"Yep." Martin paused. "You should see it in a few months time. It's harder to squeeze through than a… well, a rat's arse, I suppose."

Templar stared, and laughed suddenly.

"What?" Martin asked irritably.

"Oh, no…no…" Templar began, trying to control himself. "'Rat's arse?' You _are_ an enigma, Martin."

"I was trying to be a little more… I don't know. It was stupid."

"No, it just surprised me, that's all. I'd say that I've walked this road before, but I just can't remember it."

They kept walking. They passed a sign, which showed the distance to Skingrad and the Imperial city. Templar didn't notice it, and instead pulled out the map that Jauffre had given him.

Martin obviously did notice it, and sighed. "That's a lot of walking…"

Templar unfurled the parchment and peered at the delicately drawn symbols. "Well, we're about half-way, and bout to pass the road to Shardrock, whatever that is."

"A small town," Martin answered instantly. "It reaches down to the road, now, so we should be able to see it. Your map must be old."

"Probably. Anyway, we've been walking for four hours, so we should get to Skingrad by five. We left around nine, anyway." He looked up at the sun. "We'll stop there for the night."

"Good idea. It's not recommended to sleep out in the open," Martin replied.

"And we can start early in the morning."

"That too."

Templar kept looking at the map. "Fyrelight Cave," he murmured. "Miscarcand. Harcane Grove. Water's Edge. Ahhh!"

_Let them BURN! Hopefully we have done enough._

His vision flashed red, then blue, then red, then blue.

_Templar? Dinner's ready!_

_Feel my power, and let it TRANSFORM YOU!_

_Read us a story! Please?_

_And do my bidding… _

_Take my strength, Templar._

"Templar? Templar!"

Templar found himself lying on the grass by the side of the road, with Martin

shaking him fiercely.

"Oh, thank Akatosh, I thought you'd had a seizure or something." He frowned.

"You _did_ have a seizure or something."

Templar looked around. "Oh, damn. Not again."

"What?"

"Certain things trigger my memories. Smells, sounds, sights. Usually they're bad, but that had some good in it. Although it didn't really feel like a memory…"

_Templar? Dinner's ready!_

_Read us a story. Please?_

He tried to hold the images in his mind, but they faded away like sand slipping through his fingers.

----------

It ended up begin six o'clock when they reached Skingrad, because lunch had taken longer than expected – and it was fairly boring city, to tell the truth. Templar had passed through before on his way to Kvatch, but hadn't really been paying attention. The city was split into two halves, north and south, by a road that led to the castle. The castle itself was full of soaring towers and beautifully carved rooftops, and was situated on top of a tall pinnacle of rock, connected to the city by a long, high bridge.

The city was filled with narrow streets and tall, two-or-three story stone houses. While the inhabitants were obviously well off, it was a little overcrowded. Traffic clogged the streets, and people were constantly entering and exiting shops and stores. The industrial district in the northeast corner pumped out smoke which clouded over part of the city, as it was one of the bigger manufacturing centers in Cyrodiil. The biggest building was the chapel, which towered above all others, including the various guildhouses at the south end of the city.

The houses were rather bland, all having the same wooden steps and the same glass windows and the same pointed rooves and the same painted signs. A few had tried to spruce things up a little by adding some greenery, but overall the effect was what was often described as 'meh.'

"Who would want to live here?" Templar half shouted, to be heard over the constant racket.

"No idea." Martin shook his head. "At least Kvatch made an effort."

A farmer with a handcart almost bowled him over, but he managed to stagger backwards and find cover between two houses. "Well, we'd better hurry and find an inn. They're probably all booked full."

After a bit more struggling, they came to a nondescript building called 'The Two Sisters Lodge.'

"Well, it's as good a place as any." Templar pushed the door open and found himself on the second floor of a busy pub. Seats and tables filled the floor, all filled with people, and a fireplace roared in the corner. On the level underneath them, which Templar assumed was below ground, he saw men jostling each other to get a better view of some entertainment act on a stage in the corner, while serving girls buzzed around. A flame-haired orcish woman was hurriedly pouring drinks at a bar on the bottom floor.

Templar turned to Martin. "Hey, Martin."

The person looked up. "I'm not Martin." It was a woman, startlingly beautiful, in a black priest's robe. _A woman wreathed in blue fire-_

"Oh. Sorry." He looked around, and saw the real Martin stnding a few metres away, looking over the balcony. He walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go and see the woman downstairs. See if we can get a bed."

Martin pointed at the revelers. "Look. Some of them are underage. And I'm _sure_ that Dwemer Firewhiskey wasn't legal the last time I looked."

"Oh, lighten up Martin. You'll get over it. Come on." He pushed his way past the tables and down the stairs in the corner, which continued behind him up to the third floor. It was harder going on the bottom floor, but eventually he managed to push his way to the counter. A few people glanced at his armour, but he ignored them.

"Uh, excuse me?"

The orc turned to him. "Oh! I'm Mog gra-Mogahk, proprietor of this inn with my sister. 'Two Sisters', see?" She smiled, baring her fangs. Templar found the effect unnerving. "Now, what can I help you with? Sorry, but I'm a little busy at the moment. Tirdas always is." She waited expectantly.

"I was wondering if you had two rooms that we could rent for the night."

"Two rooms? Oh, I see." She noticed Martin standing quietly behind him. "Two brothers, maybe? That would make a good match. Or maybe just friends. Anyway, we do have a few rooms left. The first room on the third floor has two beds."

"Okay. How much is it?"

"Twenty Septims. We're cheaper than those West Weald idiots on the other side of town."

"Great." Templar reached for his rather battered purse and counted out two ten-gold pieces. "Uh, are there baths up there?"

"Sure. Just make sure you don't use too much water. Have a good night." The orc smiled again and handed out the keys. "We've got some really great performers coming up, so come down and have a look if you want, once you've unpacked."

"Okay. Thanks." The two companions made their way up to the third floor, which was mercifully quiet.

Templar took the key and opened up the room. It was simple, with just the two beds, a cupboard, a few chairs and a tapestry hanging from one wall. Another door opened up into the bathroom.

"Well, you can get worse," Templar said. "I slept in the forest once and was almost eaten by a bear. And let me tell you, trees are not good sleeping spots."

"Well, you've been busy."

Templar began unstrapping his armour, throwing it to the floor gratefully. "Remind me. I'll have to get a new tunic as well." His old one was stained with dirt and blood, with a few rips and tears to round it out. "Oh well, I'm off to that bath. I've been looking forward to it."

"You need it," Martin said fervently.

----------

It was dark outside. Templar and Martin lay in their respective beds. Templar had gone downstairs to have a drink and talk a bit, but soon discovered that the Argonian band playing was almost unbearable to listen to.

"So… where are you from, Templar?" Martin asked reflectively.

"I don't know. They took that from me, unfortunately. I imagine water every time I think of it, so maybe it was by a river somewhere."

"Hm." Martin twisted the ring that curled around his index finger, which glinted silver in the dim light.

"What's the ring?" Templar asked.

"Oh, it just shows my rank. All priests wear different-coloured robes depending on the god they're devoted to, and have a different ring according to their status."

"Oh, okay. Sounds cool."

"Not really." Martin sighed. A lot of sighing had been going on lately. "The Emperor's son. I hope it's not true, but I also hope it is, in a way."

Templar thought he saw a tear creep down Martin's cheek. "Oh, don't be such a turtle, Martin. You haven't had to wade through legions of bloody daedra just to collect a priest."

Martin looked at him, and Templar saw that he was thinking about something else entirely.

"Well, you didn't have to watch while my city _burned!_"he whispered furiously.

"Your city? Your city? It's great to see you're so selfish, Martin. You'll make a fine Emperor."

There was silence.

_Oh, by the gods, that was pedantic. 'Your city.' Why did I say that?_

_Dammit, dammit, dammit! Idiot!_

"You really have no idea what you're talking about, do you?" Martin said quietly. "Just shut up, Templar."

Templar didn't answer. Or at least, he answered in his head.

_Oh, boy._

_I can see that this is the start of a beautiful friendship._


	22. Bestest Friends

_Author's Note: I apologise for my extreme tardiness in writing this chapter (it took me, what, a month?), but I've been working on other projects (e.g. a flash animation). And I stayed over someone's house for a week, so I couldn't be bothered writing then._

_To T-Blood: Yes, I am a fan of Hot Fuzz (and Shaun of the Dead, for that matter), and I thought that little situation would make a good start to Martin and Templar's 'friendship'._

_To Tamarani: Don't worry about the reviews, it's good that you put thought into them. And when I go back and update my previous chapters I might put that bit you suggested in there. If anyone else wants to suggest something, they're welcome to._

Bestest Friends

_**The Two Sisters' Lodge, Skingrad, The West Weald, Hearthfire 2 3E433**_

Templar was woken by bright sunlight streaming in through the window. He propped himself up and rubbed his eyes blearily, throwing off the blankets.

"By the Gods, what time is it?" he asked, groaning.

"About nine, actually," Martin replied from his spot by the door. He was sitting at the desk, writing on a roll of parchment.

"Wha-? Already? Why didn't you wake me up, Martin?"

"I thought I'd better not disturb the 'Hero of Kvatch'", he replied sarcastically. "And I took the liberty of getting you breakfast. Is that alright?"

Templar glanced over to where a steaming plate of bacon and eggs was sitting at the end of his bed. "What?" he said again. "Oh, damn, you shouldn't have, Martin. I'll get my own breakfast."

"I have also purchased supplies for the day ahead, and have updated your map with more current information." The priest threw the roll of parchment over to Templar, who missed the catch and let it whack him in the head.

"Ow. Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Is that what you want?"

Martin smiled bitterly. "Sorry for what?"

_Somehow_, Templar thought, _this is worse than him being angry._

"Oh, for the gods' sakes, lighten up Martin! You'll kill us all with misery."

"What misery?" Martin answered.

Templar rolled his eyes and stormed off into the bathroom to strap on his armour, fuming. Through the door, he heard Martin hit something.

Half-an-hour later, they exited the gates of Skingrad and were on their way to the Imperial City. A frosty silence had descended. Templar saw that Martin was labouring under the weight of his pack, now that it was filled with supplies.

_I'm going to ignore him. I'm going to ignore him. I'm going to ignore…_

Martin stumbled on a loose tone, and almost landed face-down in the dirt.

_Oh, for f--'s sake. _"Hey, do you want me to carry some of that?" Templar asked.

"No, I wouldn't want you to strain yourself," Martin replied casually.

Templar felt heat in his palms and saw with a shock that a fireball was forming. He snuffed it out quickly. _Anger issues…_

"In the best interests of us not killing each other on the way to Weynon Priory," Templar said, "I suggest we keep to ourselves."

"You do that," Martin replied. "Good idea. For once," he added scathingly.

Silence descended, and this time it was freezing.

--

They crested a large hill and Templar saw the Imperial City walls, with White-Gold tower spearing up into the clouds, a jewel in the centre of the sparkling Rumare Lake.

"Ah, there it is. A few more hours, then we can be off to Chorrol and be rid of each other!" Templar said brightly. "You can save the world, while I go back to being a farmer. Sounds good to me."

"I doubt you'll go back to being a farmer, Templar," Martin replied after a moment.

"Why?"

"You're too stupid."

"Thanks, Martin." Templar sighed and began walking. The priest followed, and they weaved their way along the busy roads. Highways criss-crossed everywhere as they stumbled down the hill, causing chaos at every junction. Some old Alyeid ruins jutted out into the lake from the rocky shore, and a few opportunistic merchants had set up stalls by the roadside.

At long last, they began crossing the Imperial city bridge. It was jammed tight with people, so movement was insufferably slow. And it was really, really hot. Templar ducked as a chicken flew past his head, squawking wildly.

"You know what, Martin?" Templar shouted out. "When I first came here it was raining, cold and deserted, and when I come here again it's crammed with people, humid and hot! Just my luck, hey?"

"I'd rather be sweaty than the son of the Emperor," Martin replied.

_At last! A civil reply, _Templar thought._ We may be making progress._

They were almost across the bridge, and were a couple of hundred metres from the shore of the lake behind them.

"So, Martin! Have you ever…have you ever called down a lightning bolt from the heavens?"

"No. Don't be trivial about the gods, Templar."

_Perhaps we AREN'T making progress. OR maybe it was just a silly question. Either way, I may as well be annoying then._

"Have you ever called down a fireball from the heavens?"

"No!"

"Ever performed an exorcism?"

"No, but Father Markus has."

"Ever killed a vampire?"

Martin sighed.

Templar was about to speak again when a voice shouted down from above. "Hey! You're that bloke I let in when it was raining like a pisshead!"

Templar looked around, bewildered.

"Up here!"

"What? Oh." It was the legionnaire that had let him in on his first visit – _or maybe one of many visits that I don't remember ­­_– who was leaning over the parapet and waving madly at him. "Hello," Templar shouted back.

"Want to come in for a game of cards I offered last time?"

"Uh – sorry, I can't," Templar replied. "I have someone with me" – he glared at Martin – "And I've, uh, got some business to attend to!"

"Who gives a stuff about business! We've got a cooling spell on in here as well!"

Templar shook his head. "The cooling spell is especially tempting, but maybe next time. I promise!"

The legionnaire winked at him. "Next time, eh? I'll remember that." He resumed his patrol, clanking off along the wall far above.

Someone nudged him in the back to get a move on. He pushed ahead to catch up to Martin, who was already passing under the city gates. "A cooling spell. I'll have to try that." He tried holding a frostball in his hand and then making it envelop his body, but it was too much effort.

He finally caught up to the black-robed priest. "Well, we're off to the Merchant Quarter now. More like the Merchant Eighth, but anyway. It won't take long."

The robe turned to face him, and Templar saw that it was –

"You!" It was the same woman he'd seen in the bar in Skingrad. Or alarmingly similar, anyway.

She smiled. "Yes, me again, Templar." Suddenly, she whirled around and began making her way off through the crowd. Templar stood on his tiptoes and tried to see where she went, but lost her in the sea of heads.

"That's weird. Ah, problem," he said to himself. "Where's that idiot priest gone?"

"Right here, you dolt."

Templar jumped, and saw Martin standing by his shoulder. "Oh, sorry."

"Whatever. I almost lost you when you ran off after that woman."

"Sorry about that. It's happened twice now. Maybe because she's better company."

"A _cow_ would be better company than you, Templar. Besides, she wasn't even a priest. Women can't be priests."

"A bit sexist, isn't it?" Templar asked.

"Probably, but I don't make the decisions."

The conversation ended as Templar began threading his way through the streets of the city, making his way towards the Merchants' District. Away from the entrance the crowds grew sparser, the air was cleaner, the noise diminished. It was still teeming, hot and loud, but at east you could take a breath.

They passed along wide paved squares, decorated with plants and statues, where brightly-painted wooden signs hung over doors – blue fish, pink pigs, bunches of grapes, a loaf of bread. There were tables and chairs out in the sun where people sat and ate. They walked through narrow alleys, where rickety-looking wood and plaster buildings leaned out over them, almost meeting above their heads, leaving only a thin strip of blue sky between. They wandered down wide, cobbled roads, busy with people and lined with monstrous white buildings.

Eventually they arrived at the Merchants' District, and Templar rapidly made his way to Varnado's shop, The Best Defence. It had worked for him on his last visit, so he supposed it would be easiest to do the same again.

Templar pushed the door open gently, and turned to Martin. "I know this guy. He's pretty good."

"If you say so," Martin replied.

_Disinterested, but it wasn't an insult. If I stop getting angry at him, this might – _might_ – work._

The shop was exactly the same as the last time he'd been there, the familiar racks of armour lining the walls, the same old carpet and furniture. There was also the same old dark-skinned Redguard standing at the main counter, accompanied by his partner, a black-haired Imperial.

Templar walked over to the desk. "Hey Varnado."

The Redguard looked up. "Templar, my man! It's only been four days and you're back already? What the hell have you been doing?"

"I've been up in Kvatch. I suppose you heard about the… disturbance."

Varnado frowned. "Yeah. Makes you wonder what'll happen next, if Kvatch was only meant to be the start. Who's your friend?"

Templar stepped aside. "This is Martin, a priest. We're just traveling companions, off to Weynon Priory."

"A priest and a warrior. Strange friendship."

"Yeah." Templar grimaced. "Friendship."

"So…" Varnado began. "What do you need? I want some more of your money."

"As you can probably see, I need to repair my armour." Templar glanced down. "And my sword. And my shield. Everything, basically."

Varnado looked over his battered, punctured, dented steel plating. "Yes. I can see that. Well, that's fifty Septims."

Templar reached for his purse and found it depressingly light. He tipped it out onto the desk and counted his remaining coins.

"Thirty-five, forty… Damn, I've only got forty. Would you mind if I came back in a couple of minutes? I'm sure I've got some sitting in my bank account." _I probably had a bank account. Did I?_

Martin tapped him on the shoulder. "Here." He tossed a ten-Septim coin at Templar. He caught it, surprised.

"Oh. Thanks."

Martin rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't need it."

"Oh, don't worry," Varnado said, "I'll do it for forty. It's cheaper for regular customers." He winked. "It keeps them coming back." The shopkeeper tossed the coin back at Martin, who put it back in his pack.

"Well, that'll be three hours or so. If you come back around three o'clock, I should have it all ready for you. So, get it off, big boy." He grinned.

Templar began unbuckling his armour, laying it on the desk piece by piece. After a couple of minutes he finally had it all off, and stood there in nothing but his dirty tunic and pants. Even though yhe'd washed it at the inn in Skingrad, some of the stains had been… persistent.

"When I pick the armour up, can I get a new shirt as well? This one's getting a bit of wear and tear." _Prison life does that to you. And fighting monsters, for that matter._

"Sure. That'll be twenty gold."

"Okay. See you later, then."

"See you." Varnado waved at them as they walked out, then gathered up the armour and carried it into one of his forges.

Outside, Templar and Martin stood in the bright sun, stepping aside as another man walked into the shop they'd just left.

"Well, what do we do now?" Martin asked.

Templar thought for a moment. "Pub?"

--

As it turned out, Martin went and visited one of his friends in the Temple District, while Templar wandered around aimlessly. He walked up and down the Docks, watching the ships pull in and out, circled the Arboretum twice, and ended up in Green Emperor Way, staring at the tombs of long-dead Emperors, while eating the sandwich he'd recently bought for lunch. He went to a bank at random and found out that he _did_ actually have a bank account there – a pretty big one too – withdrew five hundred gold, and bought a backpack and tent from an adventuring supplies store. Then he went into a bookshop out of curiosity, and found himself buying a novel called _The Lord of the Silver Bow. _Then he realised that it was a quarter to three and he'd better get back to the Best Defence pretty quickly, or risk Martin being pissed off at him. Which was not good.

It was three o'clock exactly when Templar came puffing up to The Best Defence, and he came to a stop by the door, breathing heavily. Martin was standing there under the overhang, arms folded.

"Hello. I see you've been shopping," Martin said, nodding at his new acquisitions.

"Yeah. Did you have fun? Have you had lunch?"

"No. But it was necessary. And yes for the second one."

"Fair enough. I'll just be a second." Templar walked into the store, and made his way over to the counter. "Varnado?"

There was no reply, but Templar heard some people talking out the back, so he sat in one of the chairs and waited. After a couple of minutes, the Redguard emerged from a side room, closely followed by three newly-armoured Argonians, who were talking amongst themselves animatedly. They left the store, still chattering to each other, and Varnado took his customary place behind the counter.

"The adventurer has returned!" he said brightly. "I'll just get your armour."

"Okay."

Martin pushed open the door and sat down beside Templar silently. He gazed off into space, _undoubtedly making up beautiful poetry, or perhaps designing a house in his head. I'm sure it's a lot better than what I think about, anyway._

"What're you thinking about?" Templar asked.

"Sex," the priest replied matter-of-factly.

"What?!"

"Just kidding."

There was a pause.

"What, then?"

"Stuff. Emperors and so on."

"Oh. Fair enough."

Then Varnado returned, with a gleaming set of polished steel plating. He also had a few shirts thrown over one shoulder. "Here we are. You can go and try these on in the room over there." He threw the clothes to Templar and pointed at a small door.

The room was small and dark, with a rough wooden floor, and had a mirror hanging from one wall. He pulled his old shirt off and looked at his reflection. There was almost a hint of muscle.

_Not bad… for a mage. A warrior should probably have a finely-sculpted chest, bronzed skin and hard-as-diamond eyes. Then again, I am a-quarter mage, so I can make excuses for myself. Up to a point. _

He turned around to examine his back, and almost twisted his neck right around in shock. There were three huge triangular scars on his back, each about five centimetres across, as if someone had stuck a few white-hot arrowheads on him when he was asleep.

_Do I remember being stabbed in the back recently? I'm sure I would. It's not something you forget. Unless you're metaphorically referring to a certain priest – it's not like he's king of the world or something._

_Well, he is. But that's not the point, is it._

_No, I'm certain no one has managed to stab me in the back. The front, certainly, but not in the back._

Templar examined himself for a moment longer, then shrugged and tried on the shirts. He left the best one on and walked back out.

"This one's great."

"That'll be fifty gold."

"What?" Templar asked. "You said it was twenty last time!"

"He's getting smarter now," the shopkeeper replied, grinning. "Remember the first time? Oh, I could have ripped you off _soooooo_ bad. I mean, seriously, you came waltzing in here-"

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Templar said irritably. He counted out a few ten-gold pieces and slammed them on the counter.

"Heh heh," Varnado chuckled. "That's thirty."

"Is it?" Templar glanced down. "Oh, sh--."

"Swear jar," Martin said without looking up.

"What?"

"I've decided," Martin began, glancing up from the parchment he was reading, "that if you do anything that I consider inappropriate, you pay me two of myself."

"Two Septims? Excuse me, but when did this happen?"

"Just now."

"Oh, great." Templar sighed. "I'll take the shirt, then I'll get out of here. Without that bloody priest."

"Some people walk in the rain," Martin replied. "Others just get wet."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Templar shot back.

Varnado spoke up. "Happiness is apparently an agreeable sensation arising from the contemplation of another's misery. That makes me _very_ happy right now."

"Ooh, ooh, how about this one!" Templar said. "Sod off!"

"Cheerfulness is what greases the axles of the world, Templar."

"Oh, for Akatosh' sake. Let's go, Martin. Good luck with the business and everything, Varnado."

The shopkeeper couldn't resist one last jab as the door closed. "Don't go through life creaking!"

--

They were off, finally, and on the road to Chorrol. The Imperial City had just disappeared behind the hill they were now descending, although the ever-present White-Gold Tower still poked above the treetops. The afternoon heat was wearing off, the scenery was nice, and the roads were less busy. Templar was in his freshly-repaired armour, Martin was plodding along stoically, and everything was quite nice – if you didn't happen to be Templar Estantesec or Martin Septim.

Step step step. Plod plod plod. Argue argue argue. Complain times three. And so on.

But they were getting somewhere, which was a nice change. It was only a couple more hours until Weynon Priory, when Martin would be spirited off somewhere, the world would be safe for a while, and things would go… back to normal. But normal isn't much fun, is it?

Plod plod plod…

Templar trudged along, conversation from the occasional passers-by washing over him.

"It seems the a few Nords over in Skyrim have started a rebellion…"

"And do you know what she did? She married a Bremer! A Bremer, of all things!"

"They found a vampire over near Hackdirt. Lucky the watchmen got him, otherwise who knows what would've happened-"

_He could feel the cold radiating off them. One a terrible, demonic creature, reaching up like a tower into the sky. The other was a dragon, wearing, strangely enough, the robes of a priest. There was something alarmingly familiar about it, something… close. Templar struggled towards the dragon, but his movements were slow and clumsy. Clouds of all different colours swirled around the dragon, while the demon was surrounded in red. He looked down at himself, and realised he was in a pale blue cloud. Familiar…_

_He needed to reach the dragon! Needed to…_

He woke suddenly, gasping for air, sweat streaming off him. He shook his head, trying to get the blurriness out of his vision. _Needed to…_

"You alright?"

Templar saw that Martin was sitting next to him, and stared at him blankly.

"You alright?" he said again.

Templar could feel a terrible headache coming on, but he replied. "Sort of. What happened?"

"You keeled over again. I don't know how to put this, but something's not quite right with you…"

"I'm crazy, I know. Bloody visions."

"No, not in that way. Just… different."

Oh. I see," he replied shortly, raising a hand in front of his face, clenching it into a fist once or twice. "Well, thanks anyway," he said with a sigh, closing his eyes. He lay for a moment, before his eyes snapped open and he leapt to his feet. Martin stared at him.

"What am I doing? We need to get to Weynon Priory! I'm supposed to be watching you, not the other way around! Dammit! Dammit all to Oblivion!" he cursed, jumping up and putting on his backpack. Martin watched with some kind of fascination and awe. Templar cursed vehemently as he finished gathering his things and hurriedly consulted the map.

The priest sighed. "Glad he's feeling better." He rose and followed Templar as they set out on the road again, walking in silence, except for the constantly-muttered swearing. After a while, he decided to interrupt.

"Templar?"

He whipped around and leaned right into his face. "What?!"

"I'm not sure why you're angry with me," Martin said flatly.

Templar deflated slightly, staring at the ground for a second. "I'm sorry, Martin… I shouldn't have lashed out for my own frustration."

"Frustration?"

"These things I'm seeing are… getting to me. It's difficult, knowing you've lived here all your life but still can't even find your way around. Everything's new. And I'm supposed to be protecting you, not the other way around," Templar said tiredly.

"Well, you've done nothing but help, I suppose, since I've known you. Even if we have our disagreements. You've risked your life for my city and its people" Templar winced inwardly at that – _my city_ – "so it's nice to be able to do something to help. Alright?"

Templar paused. "…Fine. But I'm still not happy about it," he replied stubbornly. "I'll try to be a little better in the future."

"Great. Then let's continue, shall we?" Martin advised.

He nodded slightly and the two of them continued down the path. Martin didn't seem too bothered, but he hadn't known the priest long enough to know for sure. And inside, his own stomach was churning, as thoughts whirled around his head, trying to piece together his dreams and memories. _The priest and the warrior, bestest friends. Give it another few days._

They kept walking. It was now six in the evening, and their shadows were stretching out along the road behind them. They hadn't seen another traveller for a while, as Chorrol wasn't the biggest of cities. Templar raised an arm in front of his face to shield his eyes from the setting orange sun.

"Well, the Priory's there over the next hill," Templar said. Beside him, Martin turned pale.

"What?"

"I can hear fighting."

Templar listened, and found that he could hear… something, anyway. A few shouts. "Oh, it's probably a training exercise. Or they've having another particularly vigorous mental health session. Don't worry too much."

"You sure? I don't want to get killed by running into a pack of bandits or something."

Templar stood there, looking at the sky. _It's better to be safe, isn't it? _"Alright. Get somewhere safe. I'll handle things. The world can afford to lose me, but it can't afford to lose you."

Martin stared at him. "_We'll_ handle things. I'm not running away again."

"Since when have you run away? I'll do the fighting, you do the priest…ing," Templar said awkwardly.

"That's not even a word," Martin replied flatly. "And you stoleit from Dead Heroes by You Float My Boat, anyway."

"Shut up," Templar retorted. "Just stick close to me, then. Okay?"

"Fine. I won't die on you, I promise."

They continued walking towards the Priory. All of Martin's worrying had made Templar nervous, so he walked a little faster than usual. They crested the hill, and Templar saw Brother Maborel come running out of the familiar Priory doors.

"Hey, Brother Maborel! Anything happened while I was away?"

The priest sprinted towards them and shouted out desperately. "The Mythic Dawn! They're here! They've killed Brother Eronor, they've killed Brother-" He tripped and fell to the ground, slamming into the pavement. Templar saw a red-and-silver-armoured figure rush out from the doors after him. _What?! It's one of the Emperor's assassins- _He cut himself off mid-thought and began running towards Brother Maborel in alarm.

The monk looked up. "You've got to find Jauffre. I think he's in the Chapel-"

The dark figure got there first and stamped down on Brother Maborel's back, pushing him to the ground again. It raised its sword-


	23. Defenceless

_Author's Note: My goodness, that took a while. I actually wrote this in about five days, those days spread out across two months. I also haven't really edited/re-written/proofread this chapter, because I go on school camp tomorrow and I wanted to get it up before then. _

_And a quick note: since everyone in this chapter is either a priest or Templar, it can be a little confusing when I refer to someone as a priest. It shouldn't be too bad, though. _

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Silver Bow is wholly owned by David Gemmell, not me. I use a modified quote from it in this chapter, though, so go out and read the book already, before Templar does._

_EDIT 4/15/08: Revised this chapter by fixing up a few typos and editing dialogue, descriptions etc. Nothing major. All these updates to the website have wreaked hell on my formatting, though, so if anything seems amiss I shall try and fix it._

Defenceless

_**Weynon Priory, Near Chorrol, The Great Forest, Hearthfire 2 3E433**_

He raised his sword-

-and drove it down, without the slightest shade of remorse.Brother Maborel slumped to the ground, his lifeblood leaking out onto the earth. The sun glared at all of them, the orange light glinting off his armour, the trees, the stones, throwing long shadows across the land in front of them, behind them, across the world. A boiling, roiling white-hot ball of fire that actually made it possible for them to live. Or die.

Then the assassin looked at him. It pulled its sword out of the fallen monk's body.

"Get away, Martin," Templar muttered.

"No."

The assassin began to advance. Templar heard the ring of metal from somewhere else in the Priory, and suddenly a brown robe appeared through the Priory's central archway. It backed away, trading blows with another assassin. Magic flared, and suddenly the pair disappeared again, hidden behind the buildings.

"Martin. I'll deal with it."

"Shut up, Templar."

Templar ignored the priest and locked eyes with the steadily advancing assassin, keeping the tip of his sword pointed at the man's chest.

Closer…

Closer…

Templar felt sweat running down his cheeks. He resisted the temptation to wipe it away with his hand. _Damn_ his pack was heavy. Brother Marborel's body still lay on the cobbles.

Then the assassin swung at him with lightning speed. Templar barely managed to block it with his shield, and stepped backwards to avoid another blow. He swung back with his sword, but the assassin sidestepped, and managed to lash out with his foot while Templar was off-balance. He stumbled, but quickly got his footing and their blades clashed again. Beside him, Martin raised a hand and conjured a swarm of tiny lightning bolts that flickered and swirled around his body, then drew a shortsword out from under his robe.

"I'll go and help, okay?" Martin began to jog over to where they'd seen the other monk.

""You – stay – right – here, idiot!" Templar shouted back. "Martin!"

The assassin stopped abruptly, mid-swing, and glanced over at the priest's retreating back. Templar didn't wait for it to continue and smashed his sword into its shoulder. It fell to the ground, rasping with pain.

Distantly, Templar saw Martin enter the archway, crouching and trying to be stealthy. He slammed his sword into the assassin's armour again, and heard something crack.

Then the priest threw himself backwards as an axe arced above his head. He fell to the ground, and Templar saw another assassin advancing out of the shadows. Then the blue lightning around Martin's body suddenly darted out, sparking against the assassin's armour.

_Wham!_ Templar had the wind knocked out of him as the first assassin hit him in the chest, still limping slightly. Templar staggered backwards, blocked the next blow, and charged forwards with his shield. The assassin tumbled backwards, and Templar stabbed his sword into its chest again, and again. He looked up and saw Martin backing away from the second attacker. The shield of sparks flared again as their swords clashed, flowing around Martin's weapon and sparking at the assassin's helmet.

He looked back down at his opponent, and saw that he lay still, slumped up against the well in the middle of the courtyard.

_Zzzzzz-_

Something sizzled past to his right, and he saw the brown robe flash past again, behind a farmhouse. A fireball shot off into the woods.

At his feet, the assassin and its armour and weapons disappeared in a shimmer of red, to be replaced with the body of a red-robed woman, a large stab wound in her chest.

Templar glanced back to Martin, and saw him slip.

_Stupid priest. If he gets stabbed I'm going to be very, very angry._

He began running towards him. The he saw the brown-robed man appear again, this time behind Martin's attacker, and drive his sword – eerily – completely through the assassin's helmet, the tip protruding from one of the eye-slits. Martin stumbled backwards into a wall and stood there, breathing heavily, the blue lightning dying away.

The brown-robed man pulled his sword out of assassin's body just as it flickered and transformed, slumping to the ground. Then the man's sword disappeared with a bright flash, leaving nothing but air.

Templar jogged over to where Martin was standing. "Brother Piner! Thanks for the help."

"Oh, that's fine. I never realised conjuration could be so useful. How's your friend?"

Templar glanced over at Martin, who had closed his eyes briefly. "I'm sure he's all right. Though I would urge him to reconsider his battle plan in any future engagements."

"True." Brother Piner gestured at the red-robed bodies littering the courtyard. "They came out of nowhere. Teleported in, just like that."

"Well, that explains it. Where's Jauffre?"

"I think he was praying in the chapel. Bitter irony, don't you think?"

"To the chapel, then," Templar said firmly. He jogged off through the archway and back out into the courtyard, turning left towards the chapel doors.

"As long as he's still alive," Martin murmured.

Templar could imagine the unsaid words. _I haven't put up with Templar for all this way just so…_

_BAM!_

The wood was reduced to a cloud of splinters as one of Brother Piner's blasts ripped into it. Templar rushed through the dust to find three assassins, one dead on the floor, the other two battling with Jauffre by the altar. He began running down the aisle, he could hear the feet of Brother Piner and Martin behind him, he saw Jauffre wielding a heavy, two-handed blade. A pew had been tipped over and blocked the aisle in front of him. He vaulted over it and slipped over on the thin carpet on the other side, crashing to the floor.

_Dammit! Who puts a thing, smooth carpet right where someone who's coming to rescue them will jump over something that's haphazardly blocking their path and slip on it?_

Templar looked up just to see Jauffre behead the last attacker with a mighty swing. Blood fountained from the severed neck, bubbling onto the stone floor, while the head came rolling down the steps, coming to rest right in front of Templar's eyes. Then, disconcertingly, the armour disappeared and a human head wavered into existence, wearing a very painful expression.

_"_Oh dear. I'm not going to have any dinner tonight."

"Forget about your dinner," Jauffre said irritably, "what about my church? It's going to take _ages_ to get the bloodstains out."

"Aren't you more concerned about the dead people?"

"They were trying to kill me and bring an endless reign of darkness and destruction to the world. Of _course_I'm not worried about them. If I have to kill a few of them to save the rest of Cyrodiil, so be it."

"Fine. First of all, why the _hell_ are people trying to kill you?" _The same ones that were trying to kill the Emperor, too._

Jauffre thought for a moment, his face transforming into a rictus of horror. "Oh, no. No, no, no!"

"What?"

"Follow me." The old priest began running. "I don't think that I'm the target. It doesn't matter if I die, I'm expendable. I think they're after the Amulet of Kings."

They emerged into the courtyard. "I hid it in a secret room in the house-" He saw Brother Marborel's body, lying in the darkness. The sun had lowered further, and a faint glow could be seen above the trees from Chorrol's many lights.

"How many?" Jauffre whispered. "How many are dead?"

"Brother Marborel, Father. And Brother Eronor was taken by surprise when they first attacked," Brother Piner said quietly.

The old Blade shook his head. "The Mythic Dawn have a lot to answer for."

_The Mythic Dawn?_

He walked in through the open Priory doors and rushed up the stairs to the room where Templar had first found him, five days ago. There was a cupboard toppled over in the middle of the room, and the wall behind it was blasted away, the hole glowing with an eerie magical fire. He saw Jauffre rush through the opening and shout something, then got to the top of the stairs himself, looked into the little room and saw one of the attackers holding a necklace and suddenly-

-disappear. _Whoosh_, leaving nothing but air.

"That wasn't what I think it was, was it?" _Argh!_

"It's gone. The enemy have defeated us at every turn." Jauffre shook his head despairingly.

_We'll just have to get it back then, won't we._

Templar heard Martin and Brother Piner come up the stairs behind him. "Bad news?" the priest asked.

"M-hm."

Jauffre stood there, staring at the empty space where the Amulet had been.

"It's not all bad news, though," Templar said. "I've got Martin."

"_WHAT?!_"

The black-robed priest stepped out from behind Templar's back. He waved nervously. "Hello."

Jauffre's eyes widened. "Oh my god. Well, thank Talos for that. Lose two priests, gain a new one. Brilliant."

"Does _anyone_ like me?" Martin asked.

"Sorry about that. Shouldn't have said it. But with all our work gone, and Brother Maborel and Brother Eronor…"

"Yes," Martin said quietly. "We'll be downstairs, OK?" He looked pointedly at Templar.

"Yes. Okay… Brother Piner, could you stay up here?"

"I will, Father."

"Thank you." Jauffre suddenly seemed very old and frail. "I'll be down for dinner."

* * *

As it turned out, Jauffre wasn't down for dinner. Brother Piner came in briefly to give them some food and show them their beds, but soon departed again. Templar began reading the book he'd bought, but kept stopping and looking at the empty beds around him. The chapel windows glowed with soft light, as Jauffre and Brother Piner kept their vigil.

Martin had pulled a book from one of the bookshelves, and was reading it intently. Templar glanced over at the cover. _The Lusty Argonain Maid. _

"Unusual choice, isn't it?"

"What? Martin asked.

"The book."

"Oh. Well, it's nice to be lustful now and again. You don't get a lot of that as a priest." He grinned, and then became serious again. "It keeps my mind off things."

"Ah. I suppose it does." Templar went back to reading, turning the pages slowly. He looked up again, through the window and down to the chapel outside.

"Shouldn't you be praying with them or something?"

The priest shook his head. "No. I didn't know them, while Jauffre obviously loved them very much. And I'm sure you'll manage to get the Amulet of Kings back so I can be, well… crowned Emperor."

"I certainly hope so. I have a life to get back to once this is all over."

"Hm. Me too."

Templar began to read again, trying to lose himself in the world of Ancient Tamriel.

_Helikaon glanced at Xander. 'Are you ready to be a sailor, son of Akamas?'_

_'Yes, lord.'_

_'Are you frightened?'_

_'A little,' he admitted._

_'A great man once told me there can be no courage without fear, no victory without loss' said Helikaon. 'He was right. Remember that.'_

_And the great ship began to glide serenely across the bay._

* * *

The next morning, everyone was feeling a bit better, even though things were still grim. They sat again in Jauffre's study, each person munching on their various breakfasts. The man himself looked very tired, as if he'd aged five years in a single night.

"Well, it's obvious we can't keep Martin here," he said. "It's not the safest place in the world. The Priory's only defence was that no one knew about it."

_So how did they find out?_

Earlier in the morning Jauffre had taken Martin for a little walk, to discuss destinies and suchlike, Templar supposed. Catch up on-

-

_"So, where have you been these past few years?" Jauffre asked. _

_"In Kvatch mainly. 'Priesting,' as Templar puts it."_

_"Yes, Templar the enigmatic hero. Bit of a mystery, isn't he?"_

_"Not really. Seems like your regular annoying citizen to me."_

_"Now, I know you're smarter than that, Martin. It's just that you don't like him. I think you'll find that there's more to him than meets the eye. He's got what you'd call a good heart, I suppose, but he seems… weighed down by something."_

_"He has amnesia, doesn't he? From when he was in prison?"_

_"Yes, he does unfortunately. But enough about him; let's talk about you," Jauffre replied. "When was the last time I saw you? Back in 429, I think."_

_"Yes. You were visiting the Count, weren't you?"_

_"On a secret mission for the Blades, actually."_

_"You're a _Blade?_" Martin asked._

_"Yes. Grandmaster, actually. Templar had the same reaction. I suppose an old Abbott doesn't exactly look the part."_

_Outside, a rooster crowed, marking the transition from night to day._

_"No, it's just – you can't be a warrior and a priest at the same time, can you?"_

_Jauffre thought for a moment. "Not really. Sort of. Violence has its place in the world, because the world is filled with people, and people can sometimes be, for lack of a better word, idiots."_

_There was silence for a moment, as the first rays on sun peeked in through the windows._

_Martin spoke. "So, I'm to be Emperor, am I? Everything Templar said was true?"_

_Jauffre smiled. "Yes, everything's true – Dagon, Dragonfires, all of it. I was waiting for you to get to that. It's why I began talking to you in the first place."_

_"It wasn't just a friendly chat then?"_

_"Well, that too. But, unfortunately, some things are more important than friendship, whether we like it or not. Saving the world, for instance."_

_"What a depressing things to say," Martin commented, smiling slightly. "But true."_

_"Well, once we get the Amulet of Kings back and crown you, we can all be happy again. Is that a good compromise?"_

_"Exactly how long will this take?"_

_"You know, Martin – I have absolutely no idea. I have absolutely no idea if any of this is going to work, but at least we can all try." The Blade smiled. "For the sake of our friends. See? It's all a big circle."_

_"Well, I'd better hurry up and get some friends then."_

_Jauffre decided to take it as a joke. "My, my, we _have_ got a long way to go. Things are moving quickly, though, so I think I'd better tell you a bit more about being the ruler of the whole wide world."_

-

-old times.

"Yes. I agree with you there," Templar answered. "Once they learn that Martin's alive, they'll be back."

"So where's safe?" Martin asked.

"Well, nowhere is truly safe against the powers arrayed against us. Oblivion Gates have a nasty way of upsetting anyone's plans. But we must play for time, at least…"

_The Arcane University? Secure, but could be infiltrated by enemy agents. Some remote village? Not really defensible if attacked…_

"Cloud Ruler Temple, I think," Jauffre said finally. "The hidden fortress of the Blades, in the mountains near Bruma. A few men could hold it against an army. And those men are definitely on our side."

"Cloud Ruler Temple? I've heard of the place."

"The Temple was built long ago," Jauffre explained, "by the founders of the Blades, back in the days of Reman Cyrodiil. It is our ancient fortress, sanctuary, refuge of last resort. You will be as safe there as anywhere." He glanced over at Martin.

-

_"The coronation of each new Emperor is sealed when he uses the Amulet to light the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. The Dragonfires of Akatosh remain lit until the Emperor's death. His successor then lights them anew upon ascending to the throne."_

_"So with the Emperor dead and no successor crowned, the Temple of the One is now dark for the first time in centuries… and possibly leaving this world open to attack from Oblivion," Martin finished. _

_Jauffre sighed. "I'm not surprised, really, that Dagon is planning to invade. He's the 'inveterate foe of all mortals,' and with a title like the Lord of Destruction – I mean, you hardly expect him to sit around and play hopscotch all day."_

_Martin grunted._

_"He was involved in Jagar Tharn's plot against the Empire years ago, as well. So he's tried before."_

_"I see. So who rules Cyrodiil, then, while our fates spiral into the abyss?" Martin said dryly._

_"The Elder Council, more by tradition than anything else. None of them has actually made an important decision in their lives. Chancellor Ocato heads the Council, and is the closest thing the Empire has to a leader right now. But the Blades only answer to the Emperor, of course, so we can get on with things while the Legion dithers around."_

_"Sounds like trouble," Martin observed._

_"Not just trouble. Sounds like a disaster in the making."_

_-_

"Well… I suppose that's it then," Templar said. "Go off to Cloud Ruler Temple and sit tight until we figure out what the hell we're going to do."

"That sounds about right," Jauffre replied. "No, I'm sure we'll think of something. We can always get you to launch a one-man assault against the Mythic Dawn stronghold."

"Ha. Very funny."

"It can't be that different to an Oblivion realm, can it? Martin's told me all about your little escapades, since you've been too busy to tell me."

Templar glared at Martin. "_That _was a one-off. Someone else can be a hero for a while."

Martin chuckled. "Famous last words."

"Undoubtedly." _See how angry I am? See? I'm glaring at you with pure venom in my eyes! Which has happened so much lately that it doesn't really mean anything anymore!_

"You know," Jauffre said thoughtfully, "I have a theory. You now how women are nice to each others' faces and hate each other behind their backs? Well, I think men hate each other to their faces but are, secretly, quite good friends."

"Oh, fu- sod off, Jauffre."

"Yes, I agree," Martin added. "Do you really think I could be friends with an ape?"

"Shut up, Martin! You're only reinforcing his point!"

"_Me_ shut up? _Me_?"

"Well, not really, because I don't secretly like you, but-"

"Well that's very nice, Templar. Ape."

* * *

They stood out the back of the Priory, next to Brother Eronor's small stable. "Well, I suppose you'd better have Brother Marborel's horse," Jauffre said. "I don't have any use for it, and I'm sure he'd want you to have it."

Templar saw the horse glaring at him with evil little eyes, and reaches out a hand nervously.

"_Fricking OW! ARGHHRHGHGHGH!_"

"The horse bit you," Jauffre observed.

Templar shook his head, massaging the bite marks on his fingers. The horse continued to stare at him. "Ow! Of course it bit me! I think I'll pass on the horse, thank you very much."

"It'll make the journey quicker."

"Tempting as that may be – ow!"

"Very tempting," Martin interrupted.

"Tempting as that may be, I think I'll get my own horse. One that doesn't bite."

"Fair enough," Jauffre answered. "Well, I guess I'll see you at Cloud Ruler temple. Sooner rather than later. preferably with a plan in hand."

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Templar asked. "With – you know."

"Oh, yes. Brother Piner can keep me company. And we'll get some new apprentices."

The three of them walked out into the courtyard. A cat was perched on the edge of the well, and it meowed loudly at them. Jauffre stopped to scratch its head.

"Well, goodbye then. Be good, Martin."

"It's not me you have to worry about. It's _him,_" Martin replied.

"Hmph. You're probably right. Anyway, I'll see you at the temple, preferably with a plan in hand." Jauffre grimaced.

"A plan that will save the world," said Martin.

"Oh, we'll be needing a few of those, I think."

* * *

"Off to Cloud Ruler Temple, then. You ready, Martin?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. I'll just be happy if I can get a good night's sleep." Martin rubbed his eyes.

"Hm. You seem more… amiable today."

"Well, I…" he paused. "I had time to think last night, and I talked with Jauffre, and… well, I guess I actually believe everything now. Destiny and all that. It hadn't really sunk in before, being Emperor."

"I'm not surprised."

"And, I suppose, we got off on the wrong foot."

Templar looked at him.

"You know, I'm glad you feel that way. You're father… spoke to me shortly before he died, and he said that the gods had entrusted me with the responsibility of finding you, and helping Jauffre, and Akatosh knows what else… I mean, it's a terrible burden, not to mention a risky one. But in a sense, I'm glad… that I have the chance to actually do something with my life, and those chances should be cherished. So I suppose I'm glad I met you, as well."

They walked down the road, the sun shining brightly.

"Likewise. You're not as horrid as I thought you were."

There was a pause, with a question mark on the end.

"You thought I was horrid?"

"Well, when you came into the chapel the first time… spouting all that nonsense, or what I thought was nonsense, you seemed a bit…"

"Horrid?"

"More like horridly insane."

"Oh I _see_," Templar said, rolling his eyes. "That's much better. You know what? I thought that until recently too, but I've decided to ignore my more murderous tendencies."

Martin glanced at him uncertainly. "Uh…"

"Just kidding," Templar smirked.

"You know, I'll never understand you," Martin sighed.

"The same to you. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Martin thought for a while. "It depends."

"I suppose it would."


	24. Into the Clouds

_Author's Note: __Well, Defenceless was the end of Part 2, so now begins Part 3: The Path of Dawn. It's a bit of a change of pace, with far less fighting and far more thinking, which means Templar is in trouble._

_Oh well, thanks for reading this as you've now stuck with me for 100,000 words__, which is far too many. And what's this? I see only FORTY-FIVE reviews. Did I say somewhere I wanted fifty? I'm sure I did. Or maybe it was in my head. Anyway, here's an idea. In your review, if you want to you can tell me the best bit and worst bit (or chapter, or scene, or whatever) of the story so far and why. Then I can hopefully make it better._

_EDIT: I was reading up on some Elder Scrolls lore the other day, and I saw that while the Count of Kvatch did indeed have a few sons, they all died. Whoops. Anyway, all the background stuff that's been written is actually kinda interesting._

Into the Clouds

_**The Orange Road**__**, Edge of the Great Forest, Hearthfire 3 3E433**_

"You should have taken the horse, you know."Martin sighed as his legs began climbing their way up yet another hill.

"I'd have much worse than sore muscles if I'd taken _that_ thing," Templar replied. "Besides, I can't ride very well."

"I can, though."

"Oh."

Thick bushes hugged the road on either side, forming an impenetrable green barrier. Gigantic oaks stretched high into the sky above, and grass tried to worm its way through the cracks in the road. The air was cold and wet, and everything was covered in a fine layer of moss. They had just passed a guard tower that squatted beside an intersection, silently watching over the forest.

Ahead of them, the road continued to wind its way upwards, soon lost in the dense foliage. The skies overhead were solid grey, with the promise of imminent rain.

"Well, I still stand by my earlier argument. I swear, that thing would have _killed_ me."

"Whatever. I wonder, do you have to walk anywhere as an Emperor? Can't you just get servants to carry you around or something?"

"I'm sure you could. By the way, you've got to give me something if you do become Emperor."

"What – a year's supply of chocolate?"

"Haha," Templar laughed mirthlessly. "No, I mean like a special post or something. Maybe an entourage of seven nubile maidens. I've got you this far, haven't I?"

"Through misplaced courage and sheer dumb luck. But I suppose I could work something out."

The ground began dropping away to their right, forming a steep valley choked with vegetation. A wolf prowled around a set of rocks on the hillside. Ahead of them, the road branched into two, a weathered sign pointing in each direction.

"Well. The Orange Road or Durrington Bridge?"

"Let's take the bridge," Martin replied. "Be adventurous."

The path was much less travelled than the Orange Road, and in several places branches had fallen and blocked the way. Templar could hear birds chirping, and the echo of rushing water in the distance. Any other sounds were strangely muffled by the leaves all around. Then the trees began to thin a little, making way for clusters of misshapen rocks and clumps of brown grass. Until Templar saw the bridge.

"Did I ever tell you that I was afraid of heights?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, I am, and that means that Durrington Bridge is out of my comfort zone."

The thing itself was a classic adventurer's bridge, a flimsy-looking construction of rope and wooden planks. It arced across a rocky gorge around twenty metres wide, the other side of which was a similar mix of thick foliage. The sound of running water was a lot louder now, so there must have been a river below. Martin walked ahead to the edge of the gully and looked down.

"Templar! I think this makes up for it!" The priest beckoned him over.

"Oh, all right." _If it's stayed up for this long, it probably won't fall down. But doesn't that increase the chances of imminent collapse? _"I wonder how many people have died crossing this bridge. Whoa!"

"Exactly," Martin replied, smiling. "It is kind of impressive."

"Yes, I think you could say that," Templar replied faintly. _Anyway, I'm the Hero of Kvtach. I'll probably die at the age of eighty fighting a rat in a goddamned sewer. Ah, well, something to look forward to._

A cascading waterfall leapt down the rocks behind them, the clouds of spray forming short-lived rainbows. Deep green vegetation clung to the polished rocks and dark hollows behind the waterfall's surface, vines and creepers waving lazily in level pools. The water then leapt out into space and slammed into the swirling river forty metres below. It resembled a huge set of stone steps, a giant's staircase reaching up towards the sky.

Templar saw that he'd joined Martin in the middle of the bridge without realising it. The priest was leaning on the rope railing and looking down earnestly, something which Templar tried to avoid doing.

Ahead of them the steep, jagged sides of the gorge fell away and the river widened into a deep pool, its surface dotted with lilies that bobbed and spiralled in the weakened current. Drooping yews lined the edges, their long branches dipping into the water. Further on, the river narrowed again, widening its way eastwards. Sun glinted off the water, making it sparkle like a diamond. As the land lowered, Templar could see the canopy as an unending sea of green.

"I wish we could see the mountains."

"Cut down a few trees and you probably could. Then you'd see White-Gold Tower, too."

"It is beautiful, though. For once I agree with you," Templar said dryly.

"I don't see how you couldn't."

Templar felt the drops of moisture sprinkle the back of his neck, soaking into his pack and his armour. _Oh, what a nice change. It's actually comfortable being wet… Amazing what you find when you least expect it. It's… humbling._

"Wonderful, isn't it?"

Templar jumped, startled. There was a woman holding onto the rope next to him, staring out over the landscape. She wore a simple brown dress, and had blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes, a carefree expression on her face.

"I hate to admit it, but sometimes my brothers _do_ manage to do something right."

"What?"

"They… introduced me to this place, I suppose. But I like to come out and just stand here now and then. You can't see any hint of civilisation, it's just the world as it was millions of years ago."

"Apart from the bridge, of course," Martin said.

"Well, I'm prepared to put up with that." She laughed.

"You're right," Templar said. "There is nothing there. Just green. There's not many spots in Cyrodiil like this anymore."

"Yes. It's nice, isn't it."

The water continued to fall behind them.

"Well, I suppose we'd better go." Templar glanced over at Martin.

"Yes. I suppose." He turned from the sight reluctantly.

They began to cross the rest of the bridge. Templar turned to the woman. "Well, good luck in whatever comes your way. Maybe we'll see you here again sometime."

"Maybe. Good luck to you, too. You'll probably need it more than I do." She looked at his armour.

"Ha," Templar snorted. "You got that right."

"Travel safely."

As they stepped onto solid ground, Templar glanced back over his shoulder. The woman was watching them, a curiously sad smile upon her face.

--

The road wound gently eastwards as the day wore on, and the forest gradually thinned, fat oaks being replaced by tall, dark green pines. The ground was dotted with clumps of red-brown grass and brown-leaved bushes. They'd been climbing steadily since mid-afternoon, and they were definitely a long way up. The air was getting colder, and Templar could occasionally see the rest of Cyrodiil through gaps in the trees to his right: the undulating forest canopy stretched out far below them, the Imperial City only faintly visible, obscured by a light haze. The sun, though, was setting rapidly, and Tamriel's two moons were becoming bright overhead. They hadn't seen any other travellers for a while now, as most would probably have set up camp.

Then a Khajiit in tatty leather armour jumped out onto the road in front of them, and pulled out a sword. Its slitted eyes glared at them menacingly, and its whiskers twitched with every breath. "Your money or your life!" it rasped threateningly.

"Oh, for GOD'S SAKE!" Templar pulled out his sword, stomped angrily towards the bandit, feinted a quick thrust at its shoulder and punched it in the nose.

The Khajiit keeled over, Templar's knuckles still imprinted in its orange fur.

"Well…" Martin began.

"For god's f—ing sake, I save someone from f—ing Kvatch and a f—ing bandit attcks me! How f—ing great! F—!"

"Well…" Martin began again. "You didn't kill him, at least. That's good. I thought you enjoyed killing things."

Templar sheathed his sword and turned on him angrily. "I thought we were going to be f—ing civil to one another!"

"Yes, but fuck is hardly a civil word."

Templar stared at him, breathing heavily. "Yes. Sorry. But I don't kill people. I kill monsters. There's a difference, sometimes."

"Well… we should find a place to sleep for the night," Martin said cautiously. "It'll be pitch black soon, and I don't want to fall down a mountain because I can't see where I'm going."

"That would be embarrassing," Templar replied. He looked at his map. "There's a junction just around the next few bends. Apparently there's a small cave and a campsite there. It's called Toadstool Hollow."

"Good. I'm bored of hills."

The Khajiit lay in the middle of the road behind them.

The junction was an intersection of three roads. A signpost stood in the middle. Bruma was almost directly north, while the Silver Road to the Imperial City and the village of Bleaker's Way curved off south. There was a wide dirt track that lead off into the forest at a diagonal, with a roughly-carved sign saying: 'Toadstool Hollow Campsite. This Way!'

As they wound deeper and deeper into the forest, Templar began to hear sounds of laughter, and see the flicker of firelight through the trees. They were climbing further still up the mountainside, and the track was lined with wheel grooves.

"Looks like somebody's already here."

"Obviously." Templar sighed.

"I was just making an observation."

"Obviously." Templar smiled.

"Oh, I don't know why I talk to you," Martin snapped, and shook his head. "I honestly hate you someti– most of the time."

"Obviously."

They path emerged into a small plateau. There was a crooked wooden railing on the south side, to prevent, and the trees had been cut down to create a small clearing. Toadstool Hollow was a small hole in the hillside to their right, blocked by a wooden door. A headless stone statue stood on an aged plinth beside the entrance, next to a rusty iron brazier that was burning feebly. Disconcertingly, a coffin leant up against a boulder on the other side of the door, its lid lying discarded on the ground. There were no toadstools.

However, the campsite was filled with people. A string of wooden caravans was circled around a central campfire which was blazing fiercely. A group of ten or so horses had been corralled in an impromptu stable. Around twenty people were lounging around the fire, sitting on carts or wooden logs. A smaller fire had been set up to cook, and the smell of roasting meat drifted through the air. A Nord were playing a harp softly.

"Well, looks like we've stumbled upon a little party." Martin glanced upwards and saw the stars twinkling overhead. "Let's go into the forest a little way. I don't really feel like company."

"Me too."

They cut into the pine trees at a tangent, crunching through twigs and grass. "They're probably transporting food up to Bruma," Martin said. "Nothing much grows up there in winter, and they like to have emergency supplies, just in case snow clogs up the roads and prevents regular food from coming in."

"Maybe it'll snow tonight."

"Maybe." The voices of the caravan faded into the distance. They found a small hollow between two large rocks, covered by a few thick bushes. Templar pulled the tent out of his pack and pitched it between them, while Martin got a small fire going. They watched the embers flare in the still air.

For the first time in months, Templar slept peacefully. Martin, however, saw the world on fire every time he closed his eyes.

--

When Templar awoke, the sun was just beginning to rise. He opened the tent-flap and looked outside, where everything was covered in a thin dusting of white. He turned back and began shaking Martin.

"Martin! Martin! Mr. Emperor Man! Wake up!"

"Wha-? I don't want to sleep with you! I don't want to sleep-" The priest opened his eyes blearily. "Oh, it's you."

Templar looked at him oddly. "Never mind. Come and look outside." _I don't want to sleep with you! I don't want to sleep with you! That sounds better than _my_ dreams. Or maybe not. _He wriggled out of the tent and stood up, and sank into an inch of snow.

Martin got up beside him. "Oh, look, the world's ended," he said dryly.

"It's snow!"

"Yes, it's snow. What a surprise. It's almost winter and we're on a mountain."

Templar looked at him. "You know, a week ago I used to be the most cynical bastard. But now you are."

"How many times have you seen snow?" Martin asked.

"Once."

Martin sighed. "Well, that explains it, then. I suppose it is kind of nice." He paused. "And cold. And wet. And annoying. Anyway, how about you pack up the tent while I make some breakfast."

--

As they got higher and higher, the road began to wind its way through a valley. Pine trees jutted out of the mountainsides on either side, scattered with rocks and scraggly grass. Templar thought that he should have brought a thicker coat. He'd decided to wear his armour to make an impressive entrance at Cloud Ruler temple, if he didn't freeze before he got there.

"Out of interest, when did you last wash your clothes?"

Martin groaned. "Skingrad. Why?"

"Are they warm?"

"Yes."

"Damn." _You know what? I can't think of anything sarcastic to say, or funny, or supremely intelligent. I must be mellowing. _

"I think you're growing up," Martin said.

"What?"

"Don't worry." He smiled and kept walking.

A deer bounded across the road in front of them, and an eagle soared distantly overhead. The sun had yet to peek out over the mountains to their left. The path was beginning to curve right and level out slightly, and Templar could see it exit the valley fifty metres onwards. The land was relatively barren, with only occasional stunted trees and boulders providing cover. The snow was beginning to melt, little rivulets of water trickling down the slope behind them.

They covered the distance quickly, emerging onto level ground. The path split again, one track leading straight onwards while the other led left. Now Templar could see the true beginning of the mountains. Snow-covered peaks stretched out ahead of him, the last of the trees petering out a kilometre away on the bottom of their slopes. Jutting black rock formations were splotched on the mountainsides, which were otherwise covered in a solid white blanket. The tallest he could see must have stretched kilometres into the air, its top barely visible in the greying skies.

_Now _that's _a mountain. _He could see the walls of Bruma peeking above the trees to the left, and a small square grey block that could have been Cloud Ruler Temple sitting on a rocky outcrop behind the city.

"Is that the temple?" Templar asked.

"Probably."

"Well, I can see why Jauffre wanted to put you there. Looks pretty impenetrable to me."

Martin shrugged. "Let's find out. You been to Bruma before?"

Templar pretended to think for a moment. "You know what? I would have to say that I don't remember."

"Oh. I understand…" Martin looked flustered for a moment. "It's a pretty town, anyway."

"Well, losing your memory isn't all that bad, really. Have you ever wanted to experience something for the first time again?" _Like, you know, reading a great book or getting hit in the head with an axe? _"That happens all the time now. Some of it's good, some of it's bad. But then again, I suppose that I've just lost the first thirty years of my life."

Their feet crunched on the snow, or what was left of it. The stones of the road were shining in the sunlight.

"They can bring memories back, you know. Everything you can take away, you can give back."

"Except time. And life."

"Well, you can even give back life, if you're a necromancer," Martin laughed bitterly. "I'm sure they'll find a way to turn back time eventually. Anyway, they don't actually remove the memories; they just lock them away. I'm sure someone at the Arcane University could do it."

"That's if I want them to," Templar murmured. "Sometimes the past should be left buried."

"Well, I think the good you've done outweighs the bad. At least you won't be left wondering about it."

Templar grunted in reply. They curved around a pile of rocks and then Templar saw the walls of Bruma before him, proud and tall, made of huge granite blocks, patrolled by archers along the parapets. Two circular towers stood on either side of the city gate, flanked by more guards in the yellow Bruma cuirass, emblazoned with a hawk with outstretched wings. The ground in front of the city had been cleared, and held thirty or so buildings, scattered between small farms. The road cut straight through and into the city itself. Templar could see smoke curling into the air from bonfires within the walls, and heard the sounds of a city drifting through the air – a blacksmith's hammer, livestock snorting, people shouting, a door slamming.

"It's not that big, really," Templar said critically.

"Well, it's hard to live on a mountain."

"Why'd they build it here, then?"

"They're Nords. Just don't ask."

Templar tried to lead the way but found himself following Martin as the road curled through the outbuildings, and then into the gatehouse. The continued under a stone arch and through the gates, entering the city itself. The two guards on either side nodded as they passed.

The city was a series of terraces that made its way up the hillside. Each terrace was lined with an assortment of shops and houses, mostly made of wood with sloping rooves and intricately carved stone. Even the buildings seemed huddled together for warmth, and were covered in a layer of frost. Pine trees and rocks jutted out of the tangle of buildings, and fires on every corner provided light and warmth. The central road branched off every few metres, and eventually led to the central square. Imposing stone statues mingled with delicate tapestries and stacks of crates and barrels. Warmly-dressed citizens bustled through the streets, cats and dogs weaving between their legs, anxious to get inside. Even the buildings seemed huddled together for warmth, and were covered in a layer of frost.

"It is nice," Templar said. "Cosy. A bit crowded though."

"It looks really good at night. No one's out on the streets, and every window is lit up by golden candlelight. I stayed here for a while when I was training to be a priest." Martin explained.

"So you didn't just stay in Kvatch?"

"No. Even though the chapel brought me up as a priest, I still had to do all the formal things. Like praying at each Chapel around Cyrodiil."

They walked up a set of stone steps onto the second terrace and into the main square. The city's chapel rose up to their left, while the castle reared up ahead of them. Martin took a side road that led them between a row of houses, through an alley choked with overgrown bushes. Then they emerged into another street and climbed another set of steps, flanked by two large sculptures, about a third of the way up the city. Martin turned right, walking down the front of the terrace. It was lined with shops and inns, with crates and barrels stacked in every nook and cranny. A continuous trickle of people flowed around them, most of them blond-haired, blue-eyed Nords.

"You sure you know your way around?"

Martin stopped suddenly and turned to face him. "Templar. Quiet. Good boy."

"Okay, okay. Sorry."

--

They exited the city and began climbing again. Cloud Ruler Temple was closer now, and Templar could see that it was a kind of horse-shoe shape – a rectangle with a semicircle on the front end. The whole thing seemed to be a few wooden buildings surrounded by an immense stone wall, situated on a hill with three cliff-like sides that left only one entrance. The road split again, one path leading up to the temple, while the other led back down into the Great Forest far below.

They kept walking. It was mid-morning and the sun was glinting off the snow almost painfully. The temple grew and grew, until it became an almost-twenty-metre high stone fortress. He could see the buildings on top more clearly now, strangely flimsy-looking wooden constructions with curving rooves in… what was it? _Akaviri style. Did Jauffre say that they built it?_

Behind him, Templar could see the city of Bruma, and beyond that, the edges of the forest. And beyond that… maybe the Imperial city. _Nice view. Well, the White-Gold Tower seems kind of small from this high up._

And then the path stopped. Templar found himself staring at a solid wooden door in the stone. _Oh GOD that's a big door. _"Well, we're here. Now how do we get in?"

"That's a good question." Martin craned his head backwards. "Do you think anyone on the wall saw us?"

"Probably. One new Emperor, here for delivery!"

Martin glared at him. "Be _quiet!_"

Then something clicked.

The door swung inwards a fraction. An eye peeked through the gap. "A new Emperor, hey? I wouldn't go around broadcasting that if I were you. A Mythic Dawn agent dressed as a Blade might just come around and kill you."

The doors swung shut, and then opened again.

"We don't like jokes," the voice said again. Then it was quiet, this time for good.

"Don't like jokes, hey?" Templar glanced over at Martin. "No, I'm serious!" he yelled back.

They heard muffled voices behind the door. Someone swore. The doors swung open, fully this time.

"Jauffre?" Templar exclaimed. "Wha – how'd you get here before us?!"

The Grandmaster smiled. "I rode."

Templar looked at Martin fiercely. "Don't say a _word_."

Beyond the doors was a wide set of stone steps. They led to the temple itself, a tall, symmetrical, pointy-looking building made from wood and dark tiles and white stone with sloping, curved rooves. Its entrance was flanked by columns, and it was surrounded by a couple of smaller buildings on either side. Before the temple was a courtyard with several grassed areas and burning braziers.

Beside Jauffre stood a dark-skinned Blade. A long, curving sword hung from, his waist. He looked confusedly between Jauffre, templar and Martin. "Grandmaster, is this?..." he stammered, and trailed off.

Jauffre smiled. "Yes, Cyrus. This is the Emperor's son. Martin Septim. And our new Emperor."

The Blade stared for a moment, and then took a deep breath. "My lord, welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple. We have not had the honour of an Emperor's visit in many years."

Martin opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Then he shrugged, and smiled ruefully. "Ah, well, the honour is mine."

Jauffre interrupted the awkward pause that followed. "Come. Your Blades are waiting to greet you." He gestured behind him, up the steps. Templar and Martin dropped their packs by the gates and walked through.

They began to climb. Two Blades looked down at them from their posts on the wall above.

Two Blades were sparring, the sound of their swords clashing ringing out in the clear air. They stopped, and stared. Four Blades emerged from the Temple itself.

They climbed. Three Blades stopped cleaning their weapons. One Blade turned from where he was sitting on the wall, and stared.

There was silence, apart from the sound of soft footsteps and the wind whistling through the temple.

Then as one, the twelve Blades present formed two lines, facing each other. Templar and Cyrus took places on the end of each line. Martin and Jauffre walked on through their silent ranks, and turned back to face them at the temple doors.

Jauffre spoke. "Blades! Dark times are upon us. The Emperor and his sons were slain on our watch. The Empire is in chaos."

He paused.

"And the gates of Oblivion are opening."

The wind seemed to whisk his words away, and Templar struggled to hear.

"But there is yet hope. This is Martin Septim. The true son of Uriel Septim. This means that he is… our new Emperor."

With a deadly metallic _shing_, the Blades drew their swords, and raised them in unison. "Hail, Dragon Born! Hail, Martin Septim. Hail!"

There was silence. Martin had a tranquil look on his face. Jauffre turned to him.

"Your Highness. The Blades are at your command. You will be safe here until you can take up your throne."

He waited expectantly.

"Jauffre." The Emperor's voice rang out clear and true as he gazed over the fourteen Blades before him. "All of you.

"I know you all expect me to be Emperor. I'll do my best. But this is all new to me." He gave a little rueful smile. "I'm not used to giving speeches. But… I want you to know that I – I appreciate your welcome here. I hope…I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the days to come. That's it." He shrugged. "Thank you."

There was silence again. Templar was tempted to see if he could get a clap going.

"Well then," Jauffre began. "Thank you, Martin. We'd all best get back to our duties, eh Captain?" He glanced at the Blade nearest to him, who nodded. The Blades dispersed, men and women going back to their tasks.

"Well, we'd best get your bags," Jauffre said quietly. "By the way, I think yours rolled back down the hill, Templar. Sorry I didn't say anything, but – it was an important occasion, you know. All that stopping and staring. It would have been terribly embarrassing."

"You're evil, you know that?" Templar replied.

"Well, my wards call me the 'Grandmaster from Hell.' Not really. But you'd better hurry. I wouldn't want a bear to eat your clothes."

Templar ran off, cursing. "Cruel," Martin observed. "That was my bag that rolled down the hill."

"Well, an Emperor shouldn't have to get his own bags." The old priest winked. "Come on. Time to see your new home."

--

Things had been a blur. Martin had attempted to show him around, Jauffre had tried to talk to him for a while, but he couldn't concentrate. Eventually he just retreated to his room. It wasn't much, just a bed and a few cupboards, but it was better than standing around outside and being sick. _Well, I suppose it's worse for Martin. Hell, a LOT worse._ Then he felt something nuzzling his foot.

It was brown tabby cat, and began to purr contentedly as its nose rubbed against his knee. He reached down and scratched it behind the ears.

"Well, hello. Would you be from around these parts?"

The cat meowed at him, and went back to nuzzling.

"I suppose you must be, unless you walked up here from Bruma. Oh gods, I'm talking to a cat." The cat didn't seem to care and kept purring. It began nibbling at his skin. "Hey! Stop it. I might try and find you some food. You look kind of thin."

Then there was a knock on the door. "Come in," Templar called out.

The door didn't open. "It's Jauffre. Meet me on the walls. We have to talk." Templar heard footsteps disappearing down the corridor outside.

Templar looked down at the cat. "Important stuff, important stuff. But I'll be back. Go catch a mouse or something. "

Templar opened the door – they slid open, and were made of a thin papery substance supported by a wooden frame – and walked down the corridor. Down some stairs, through the barracks and out through a side door onto the temple steps. It was around five o'clock, and the sun was getting low.

Jauffre was standing on the temple's foremost wall, directly above the gate. There were two small guard posts on either side. Templar walked out across the courtyard and took his place beside the priest. The land below as starting to be filled with deep shadows, and the windows of Bruma's Cathedral were glowing brightly with torchlight. One of Tamriel's moons was becoming visible on the horizon.

"Nice night," Templar said conversationally. "Nice place you've got here, too. Agh!" Suddenly he felt hands pushing against his back, and he began to lean out over the wall's edge. He pinwheeled his arms desperately, further and further – until someone grabbed him and pulled him back again.

Jauffre stood behind him. "Saved your life." He winked.

"Don't _ever_ do that again," Templar said gravely.

"You never know. Regarding your earlier statement, it is, though I feel like I'm presiding over a bunch of schoolchildren sometimes. You wouldn't _believe_ the things they do."

"Really?"

"Really." As if on cue, someone screamed behind them. Templar whirled around but couldn't see anything wrong. "That," Jauffre continued, "is the scream of Private Pelagius when he finds out Caroline has dumped another spider in his helmet."

"Oh. That's mean."

"A little, but he really should be used to spiders by now." The priest looked out over the mountainside below. He caught Templar's stretching arm with alarming quickness. "Don't try it. Nevertheless, I didn't ask you out here for a chat. As much as I like your company, you're a bit dull." He raised a hand to silence Templar's protests. "You have proven yourself a loyal servant of the Empire, as worthy as – worthier – than any of the Blades to stand by Martin's side. As the Grandmaster of the Blades, I would be honoured to accept you into our order. Will you join us?" His voice was deadly serious.

All of a sudden, Templar began to laugh.

"What!?"Jauffre snapped.

"It's – it's just that – your _ponytail!_" Templar burst out laughing again. _Get a grip! But it's – it's –_

"What about it?"

"It's so – so round, and bulbous, and onion-like! And you're, like, eighty! It's ridiculous!" Templar laughed for another ten seconds. Jauffre waited patiently.

"You finished?"

"Yes." Templar wiped his nose. "Sorry. I never noticed it before."

"Obviously. I'm not so sure about it now, but do you want to join the Blades?"

_If you say, "Yes, I will join the Blades," go to Block 1._

_If you say, "No, not right now," (Don't even think about it! There are limits, you know) go to Block 2._

_If you say, "What are my duties as a Blade," go to Block 3._

_--_

1

"What are you talking about, Jauffre. Of _course_ I'll join the Blades. I'm practically an honorary Blade now, aren't I?"

"Yes. Not many Blades swear at their Emperor, though. Then again, not many Blades are friends with their Emperor."

"Friends? Ha-ha." Templar laughed faintly.

"What?"

"I suppose we are. Ha. Friends with an Emperor. I didn't know Emperors could have friends."

"Uriel did. Me." He paused formally. "It is my honour to welcome you into our ranks as a Knight Brother of the Blades. I trust you will serve your post well."

"I'll try."

_Go to the main story._

_--_

2

"Well," you think for a second. "I really can't. Not right now. Maybe once this is finished. In a month, or however long it will be."

Jauffre's eyes suddenly grow red, and leathery wings sprout from his back. "WRONG ANSWER!" he screams furiously. He takes his sword, and before you can react, stabs you right through the heart. You feel a great swelling in your chest, and suddenly you explode.

It takes them three days to clean your intestines off the wall.

_You have died. Please start again from Chapter 1, or just go to block one and never be silly again. (Sorry. Couldn't resist. Just ignore me.)_

_--_

3

"Well… what do I have to do? Besides protect Martin, I mean."

"Not much, really. Officially, the Blades are sworn to the service of the Emperor, as the mortal representative of the Dragon Blood of the divine Talos. Unofficially, we just protect the Emperor and his Empire."

"So if Martin tells me to eat a cockroach, I have to do it?" _Better not tell him that._

"Well… yes actually. I'm sure he wouldn't do that unless you made him _very_ angry. Anyway, perks? The fortress is well-supplied, so you get a free sword, shield and set of heavy armour. You get a free place to stay whenever you want –"

"Do I have to stay here?"

"No. In peaceful times most of the Blades are… out and about. There's a couple that stay with the Emperor constantly, and a couple who stay here to look after things. That's it. Any other rules… well, don't have sex with too many women, don't steal, etcetera etcetera. I believe that those things are considered morally wrong by the gods and you shouldn't do them. That's all, I think."

Jauffre waited expectantly.

"A decision would be good," he prompted.

_If you say, "Free armour sounds good to me," go to Block 1._

_If you say, "Cockroaches upset my stomach," (Don't even think about it! There are limits, you know) go to Block 2._

_--_

Main Story

When he got back to his room, the cat was still there. It was staring intently at a small hole in the wall.

"Well, how about we get some dinner together? I'm a little hungry too." Templar picked the cat up and began walking back down the stairs. It meowed half-heartedly in protest but decided to let him carry it. He slid open the door to the great hall and looked inside. There was a fire roaring in the great hearth at the end of the building, and tapestries and bookshelves were placed around the edges of the room. Doors led off into other parts of the temple. The swords of fallen Blades - _a lot of them,_ Templar thought worryingly – hung from arches along the walls, and the temple's pointed roof was high overhead. Three of the Blades were sitting at the benches down the centre of the hall, eating. Martin was sitting on a chair by the fire, reading something. Templar walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Shouldn't you be reading 'How to be Emperor for Dummies?'"

"Shouldn't you go away?" He looked up. "Not much of a speech, was it. Didn't seem to bother them, though." He gestured at the seated Blades.

"It was a good speech," Templar replied. "I couldn't have done any better. Especially in your position."

"The Blades saluting me and hailing me as Martin Septim…" He laughed suddenly. "This is all so surreal. But I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I know I'd probably be dead by now if it weren't for you." He looked away.

"You're welcome."

"But everyone expects me to suddenly know what to do. How to behave. They want an _Emperor_ to tell them what to do. And I haven't the faintest idea…"

"Tell me more. Tell me how you feel." Templar grinned.

"Are you my psychologist for the night?" Martin asked.

"I was mad once, remember. I've been there."

"Not really."

Templar sighed. _At least all I've got to worry about now is keeping certain people alive. Martin's got to worry about keeping _everyone_ alive. _"True."

The cat wriggled out of Templar's grip and scurried under Martin's chair. Then it leapt up onto the priest's lap, purring furiously. It tried to lick his face.

"He likes you more than he likes me," Templar said. Martin didn't hear him He was too busy patting the cat. "Bloody hell." He looked at the title of Martin's book. "_On Oblivion_ by Morian Zenas. Good?"

"Interesting's probably a better word."

"So, what's it say."

Martin blinked slowly. "Well… all practitioners of daedric magic are familiar with the almost impenetrable barrier between our world and Oblivion. Oblivion seems to be kind of a parallel universe, where the sixteen Daedric Princes rule instead of the Nine Divines we have here. What the Emperor told you and what Jauffre told me implies that the Amulet of Kings is the key to the preservation of that barrier."

"So it'll be an invasion from hell. And Oblivion will consume Tamriel and Akavir and the rest of the world and we'll all be tortured for eternity."

"Through these Oblivion Gates, yes. What I saw at Kvatch… everything I know about daedric magic says that such stable portals are impossible."

"They certainly seem possible to me."

"Obviously they exist, which means the old rules no longer apply. Which means my book is irrelevant. Anyway, Kvatch is only the beginning of what Merhunes Dagon will do. It says here…" Martin flipped a few pages. "'Dagon desires nothing but destruction. Unlike the other daedric princes, Dagon desires destruction on a large scale, complete annihilation of other worlds, and is the only one who has directly tried to invade the world of Tamriel before.'"

"When?"

"Oh, he's done a few things. The Jagar Tharn fiasco. Destroyed a few continents."

"I see."

"Well, something has changed to make these stable portals to Oblivion possible. Jauffre believes that the death of the Emperor and the darkening of the Dragonfires is the key."

"It seems to be that way." Templar thought for a moment. "Hey, did you say something about knowing about daedric magic?"

Martin paused, considering his reply. "I haven't always been a priest," he said softly. "In my youth, I followed a different path." He looked down, stroked the cat absentmindedly. "I know more than I want to about the seductive power of daedric magic. Let's just leave it at that."

Suddenly, thunder combed overhead. The fire dimmed in the hearth, and the soft patter of rain echoed from the roof.

"Do you think they do that on purpose?" Tempalr asked.

"What."

"When you say something spooky. Do they say, 'oh, let's add some lightning in! That'll give it some impact!'"

"Probably not."

_Oh dear. I'm having one of my heroic impulses. _

"I know what we have to do though. I'm not sure how, but damn if I'm not going to try."_ Cue the thunder!_

"What?"

Templar almost laughed at the ridiculousness, the stupidness, the hopelessness of it all.

"We're going to get the Amulet of Kings back."


	25. The Path of Dawn

_Author's Note: __Sorry about the wait, blah, blah blah... Also, to Shiridan – I cna raed this. And ignore the end of the chapter. If Baurus seems a little... edgy, all will be revealed._

_EDIT: Anyone found some more good Oblivion novelisations? I've looked at a few myself, and I'm always looking for more stuff to copy – ahem – looking for more inspiration._

The Path of Dawn

_**Cloud Ruler Temple, North of Bruma, The Jerall Mountains, Hearthfire 5 3E433**_

"Okay, a brief summary. Bullet points, please."

Templar, Jauffre, Martin and Captain Steffan sat around one of the tables in the centre of the great hall. It was early morning, the sun just beginning to seep in through the windows. Jauffre had called a meeting to plan their next move.

"If the Amulet is truly the key to restoring the barriers between our world and Oblivion, we must waste no time in recovering it," Martin said. "So we… I… can take it to the Temple of the One and light the Dragonfires and stop the Oblivion invasion." He finished in a rush.

Templar glanced at the priest. "Very good, top marks. In any case, it's clear we need to get the Amulet before anything else happens. Now, what are we going to do about Martin?"

"You don't need to _do_ anything about me," Martin snorted.

"Yes we do."

Jauffre ignored them. "Captain Steffan can protect Martin here until the Amulet is recovered." The Captain nodded, and leant back in his chair.

_Fine. Don't say anything. _"Okay. That's good. What if they teleport in again?"

"Doesn't matter. They'd need to know the place very well to avoid teleporting into a wall, and I trust every one of my Blades," Jauffre continued.

Captain Steffan nodded again.

"And what about Oblivion?" Templar asked.

"Well, not much we need to know there. There's several realms, each ruled by its own Daedric Prince. We're dealing with only one, but that's more than enough considering it's ruled by the Prince of Destruction. You can expect that he wants everyone in Tamriel dead, no matter what the Gods say about it. And he undoubtedly has the tools to accomplish that."

"Yes, his realm's not a very nice place. I've been there. The Dragonfires?"

"They don't look very special, except for being a nice purple colour, but the most likely hypothesis is that they were created at the founding of Cyrodiil to protect the barrier between our world and Oblivion."

There was a pause.

"So who killed the Emperor? Who attacked the priory?"

"We don't know," Jauffre replied.

"Wait…" Templar thought. "Didn't you say something about a daedric cult? The Mythic Dawn?"

"Yes, but we're not certain they're involved. They're a mysterious cult that no one knows much about, and they're never directly linked to any big uprisings. However, we believe they worship Merhunes Dagon. And they wear red robes."

"I see... And the Elder Council rules while we're off gallivanting around Cyrodiil."

"Idiots," Captain Steffan snorted. "Of course, we don't answer to them. We're not an arm of the government."

More pauses. "So…" Martin said. "What do we do about it?"

"_You're_ the Emperor," Templar replied.

"And you're my advisors," he retorted. "So come on, any ideas?"

"Well… we have to recover the Amulet before the enemy takes it out of reach," Jauffre said. "And it's logical to think that it's being held in the Mythic Dawn headquarters, if they are responsible."

"Where's that?"

"I don't know."

"Ah."

"I have an idea, though. There must be a way in which the 'worthy' can become members of the Mythic Dawn, if they look hard enough."

"What's that?"

"I don't know," Jauffre said again.

Templar sighed. "We'd better start looking, then."

Captain Steffan turned to the old priest. "Grandmaster. Private Baurus requested an assignment down in the Elven Gardens, watching a suspected Mythic Dawn agent. Perhaps we can start there."

"By the gods, Sarsen, he'll do something stupid – why did you let him go!?" Jauffre yelled suddenly.

"Well, it wouldn't so much good keeping him up here, would it?" the Blade replied. "At least he has a chance of finding something useful."

Jauffre seemed to regret his sudden outburst. "Yes. I know. It's just that… oh well. Maybe he's learned something about the assassins. How about we send _you_, Templar? I'm sure that you're looking for something to keep you out of trouble."

"Key word being _out_. Actually, I'm quite happy to sit around here being bored all day."

"No, you aren't."

_Damn. He's right. How did it ever come to this? _"Okay, okay. Fine. I'll go"_ There, you've said it now. _"When do I leave?"

---

"Hobbies?" Templar asked.

"Umm… chess. Drawing? A bit of sport, now and then."

"Favourite colour?"

"Yellow."

"Damn, _everyone_ around here likes yellow. Any siblings?"

"Two brothers, both in Cheydinhal."

Templar scribbled down this last bit of information. _Name… yes, age… yes, family… yes, like and dislikes…_ He nodded. "That'll probably be it. But, uh… my real reason for coming down here was to see if I could get some arrows."

Templar was in the temple's armoury, finally deciding to do something about his arrow problem. Over the last few hours he'd been trying to get to know all the Blades, seeing as he was now officially one of them. Most of them didn't seem _too _annoyed with his little checklist.

The armourer was a weary-looking Nord, Ferrum –_ good name_ – who had a red glow to his cheeks from the stifling heat.

The armourer sighed. "Of course. You don't need to ask. Just don't take too many, okay, because Baragon also needs some."

"Thanks." The armoury was a stuffy little room underneath the temple's eastern wing, a couple of thin windows letting in some light. The somewhat low roof was supported by thick wooden crossbeams, and shelves and tables lined the walls, laden with armour and weaponry. Lanterns hung from the roof, and a red-hot forge stood in one corner, next to a battered training dummy. Templar dodged around a bench and selected twenty steel arrows from one of the shelves, slotting them into his quiver.

"Anything else?" Ferrum asked.

"Umm… doesn't it get kind of hot in here, when the forge is going?"

"I manage."

"Oh. Well… nice meeting you. Maybe I'll play you in chess sometime."

"I've already got a playing partner."

"Oh. Okay. Bye, then."

Templar left, climbing back up the stairs. _That went well._

As he walked back up to his room, Templar kept glancing over his list. _Belisarius: Private, twenty-three, likes warm weather, has a strange liking for strong cheeses. Caroline: Corporal, twenty-seven, likes dogs, warm weather and polished armour. I'll have to get onto that. Steffan: Captain, thirty-eight, likes warm weather and people who don't go around asking silly questions._

"Are my questions silly?" he murmured to himself.

"What?"

Templar realised he'd been staring into space for a half a minute. "Nothing. Actually, Cyrus, I've been meaning to ask you something. Are there baths here?"

"No. Unless you want to go dip in a frozen lake."

"Isn't that uncomfortable?"

"Not if you go in a big group," one of the other Blades interrupted. _What was his name? Roland? Roliand?_

"It all sounds vaguely sexual," Templar replied.

"Not really. It's too damn cold, you see."

"I see." _No further information needed._ "Another question. What exactly do you guys do up here?"

"Well… we all rotate through basic guard duty and intelligence gathering. There's still five or six of us out there, doing some damage control. But since we've only got one person to guard now, it's all… empty. Everyone's a bit subdued, really. We've lost six Blades in the last month, and three potential Emperors."

Templar couldn't find any adequate words of sympathy.

"But…" Cyrus began. "Life up here isn't totally boring."

---

Templar set off the next morning for the Imperial City. It was overcast, the world filled with dull greys and browns. Trees appeared as bare, spindly sticks, their leaves carpeting the ground below them.

_Roliand crouched down and peeked around the corner. He whispered over his shoulder. "He's still there. Caroline's still trying to make him go away."_

_"Well, just make sure he doesn't see you," Cyrus replied._

_"Wait – I think he's leaving. Yeah, they're going down the stairs."Roliand disappeared around the corner. "All clear."_

_Templar followed the group of Blades into the dormitory. Cyrus was carrying a cloth sack that was jiggling alarmingly. _

_"Which one's his helmet?"_

_"This one. Here, put it on his bed."_

_One of the Blades took a helmet off the shelf and placed it on Private Pelagius' bedroll. "Ready? I'll trap it underneath as you tip it out."_

_"Okay." Cyrus kneeled down and opened the cloth bag carefully. He quickly tipped it up and something furious and black scuttled out, scrambling over the bedroll and across the floor._

_"Get it! Get it!"_

_"It's in the corner!"_

_"Keep your voices down!"_

_The Blade with the helmet dived to the floor and slammed it over the scorpion. Templar noticed that the scorpion was quite.... large. "You sure it won't bite him?"_

_The Blade carefully slid the helmet over the floor and back onto the bed, keeping the scorpion trapped underneath. "No. He can run quite fast when he feels like it. And we're all trained healers, so he won't be in excruciating pain for very long." He stood up and wiped his hands, leaving a shiny helmet sitting innocently on Pelagius' pillow._

_"I do feel kind of sorry for him," Templar confessed._

_"Don't. I think he actually likes it. Now, how about a bit of table tennis before training?"_

The snow from a few days before had melted, leaving the ground rocky and bare. Streams bubbled brightly with the new flow of water. Templar began the long descent down the mountains, following a group of travelling merchants.

_"Ooooohhh!"_

_The ball soared into the air to the wonderment of the many onlookers, arcing down towards the other side of the table. _

_"Smash! Smash!"_

_Baragon slammed the ball down. The blur of orange bounced off the table and clipped Templar's ear._

_"Ow!"_

_Someone handed the ball back to him. "Sixteen-twenty."_

_He raised the ball and hit it back across the table. Baragon deflected it down the line, and Templar sliced a backhand to the opposite corner._

_Tock-ticktock-ticktock-_

_"Ah, damn." Templar's shot sailed into the net. "You win. Who's up next?" He handed the bat to Captain Steffan._

_Baragon smiled menacingly. "You haven't beaten me in days, Captain."_

_The captain smiled back. Tock-ticktock-ticktock-_

The trees were again thick on either side, though some were beginning to yellow with the onset of autumn. The day was still hot, even without the sun. The merchants had turned towards Cheydinhal, their carts trundling off to the left at the next junction.

_"You technique is horrible, you know." Caroline watched him as he aimed, bowstring drawn to his shoulder._

_"I'm self –taught," he grunted. The arrow thwacked in the target, around twenty centimetres from the centre._

_"If that was a moving person, you probably would have missed. Here, give it to me."_

_She took the bow and Templar handed her an arrow. "Well, it's not very well balanced," she said reprovingly._

_"Really? I'll have a word with Varnado about that." Templar frowned._

_On either side, several more Blades were indulging in some archery practice. Captain Steffan prowled among them, ready to leap upon any mistakes. Like a bull in a china shop as it were, Templar imagined, that is also very sick and will throw up all over you at the slightest provocation._

_Caroline __aimed quickly and fired. The arrow slammed into the outside edge of the bullseye. "Hm. I'm better than you, at least. Have it back." She handed the bow to him and he took another arrow._

_Then Captain Steffan tapped him on the shoulder. "Private Templar. Over here, please."_

_They walked over to the side._

_"Having you as a Blade is really just a formality so we can keep you close to Martin and make you useful, so I'm not going to make a big deal about it. But I still wanted to talk before you leave tomorrow."_

_"Okay." At least he's not commenting on my utterly brilliant marksmanship._

_"Baurus is on surveillance duty at Luther Broad's boarding house in the Imperial City. We've had no word from him or anyone else down there, so I assume he's still alright. But when you get there, do what he says. He's a Blade for a reason, and he knows what he's doing. You don't. However, if things start getting out of hand, I want you and Baurus back here. There are other ways to do this. Understood?"_

_"Yes." Templar shrugged. What else was there to say?_

_"Then stay safe, and may Talos be with you."_

The path kept winding down the mountainside. Templar kept walking. Life in the Blades was hard, but it did have its moments.

---

It was late afternoon by the time Templar reached the Imperial City bridge. And it was raining. He didn't even bother complaining.

The familiar stones of the bridge passed underneath his feet, burnt-out fires lining the railings. A ship was anchored about fifty metres to starboard, sails rising up out of the gloom, swaying gently in the wind.

_I wouldn't like to sail on a ship. Too much openness, no shelter from all that sun. And nowhere to hide when you have to-_

_What?_

_Nowhere to hide when you..._

_Hungry? Darkness?_

An especially large drop of water fell from one of the arches overhead and splashed onto his neck. He shivered as the wetness trickled down his back. "Stupid arches," he muttered violently. "Stupid fires. Stupid bridge."

He thought for a moment.

"Stupid heavy picked filled with stupid heavy armour and stupid heavy food. Stupid-"

"Hey, watch where you're going!" Templar almost collided with a man huddled in a long, soaking wet cloak, who glared at him as he passed.

"Stupid man."

The man looked over his shoulder. "What?"

Templar kept walking. "Stupid man in a stupid cloak in some stupid rain..." _You must be in a hurry to come out in weather like this. Going to see the girlfriend, maybe?_

"I bet she's stupid. Or maybe you're running off to ballet lessons. With a horse. Yeah, ballet with a horse. That would be stupid."

_Wait. I've heard that voice. Was that?-_

"Baurus?" Templar turned around and took a second look at the man. There was the faint outline of a sword hilt underneath the cloak, and metal glinted on his shoulders.

"What – oh, Templar. Hey." The Blade seemed flustered for a moment, then regained his composure. "What are you doing here?"

"Coming to see you, actually. Sorry that I called you stupid."

He looked down. "Don't worry. Anyway, I didn't know you were coming. I suppose you're here about the Mythic Dawn?..."

"Yes." Templar paused. "Do you think they..."

"Killed the Emperor?" Baurus finished quietly. "Yes. I think so. No proof yet, but... it's just a feeling."

"Okay. Umm..." Templar thought back to the first time they'd met. "I don't know how to say this, but... no hard feelings?"

_The Emperor died._

The Blade sighed, but didn't answer. "Well, I guess I'd better show you what I've found. I was just on my way to deliver a message, actually, but it can wait."

Templar saw that he was holding a letter of some sort. He managed to catch a few words. "_Hurry. They're onto us. I think-_"

"I think the Mythic Dawn know we're watching them," Baurus said quietly. "Jauffre will have to change his plans."

---

"Oh. I'm disappointed." Templar frowned.

"What?" Baurus asked.

"Every time I've been here – well, twice – there's been a legionnaire who seems compelled to offer me a game of cards."

"You've only been here twice?"

"Memory erasure's a bitch." Templar tried to lighten up the atmosphere with a feeble joke, which was rather hard as the entire world seemed to be against him doing this.

He saw the familiar dragon statue that had greeted him on his first visit, the square this time devoid of people, and Baurus led him to the left, down a wide avenue. The Blade pulled his cloak tighter around him, apparently ignorant of the fact that it was wetter than an actual river. "How is everyone back at the Temple?" he asked softly.

"Pretty good. Life as usual, I guess. Captain Steffan beat Baragon at table tennis, which was quite spectacular."

Baurus smiled, a little painfully. "The Captain would've loved that."

_It must be painful, being stuck down here. I suppose he just wants justice. You can't blame him for being a little withdrawn._

They walked through the Talos Plaza district in silence, the rain becoming a steady, miserable drizzle. Every now and then someone would rush past in a whirlwind of wet hair and skin, on their way to something excruciatingly important, or a carriage would clatter past and splash them thoroughly. Otherwise, the roads were empty. Templar could occasionally hear muffled conversation from behind firmly closed and probably warm and cosy doors.

"So, who have you been watching?" Templar asked, to break the silence.

"There's a man named Astav Wirich who should be at Luther Broad's Boarding House. He's been going to meetings at weird hours and I found a set of red robes in his cupboard. However, he's very good at not being followed."

"You're allowed to search people's houses?"

"We're above the law, remember? Anyway, we think Wirich is a Mythic Dawn initiate. There's a few other Blades scattered around trying to find out anything else. Not having much luck, though." Baurus grunted, and was silent again.

They entered the Elven Gardens as the sun descended below the horizon. Watchmen began trooping around with torches, trying the light the braziers scattered throughout the narrow streets as darkness fell. A few children in ragged clothes chased each other through the rain. The streets of the district were narrow, criss-crossing each other to form rectangles packed with houses. Most of them were two-storey constructions made of clean grey stone, roofed with green tiles. Gnarled trees and the occasional park bench made little natural islands in the sea of humanity.

Eventually, Baurus stopped in front of an unassuming little door on the corner of a larger stone building. "This is it," he said casually. A small cast-iron sign sticking out from the wall announced that it was indeed Luther Broad's boarding house. Templar never would have noticed it otherwise, as the ashen stone seemed to blend into the light rain. There were a few bushes and wooden boxes scattered around the entrance, and a pair of small windows above the door. Baurus opened it and ducked inside.

It was fairly standard, as boarding houses go. They stepped into a large room with a tiled sandstone floor and a high vaulted roof, filled with rough tables and benches. There were around twenty people sitting and eating and Templar's ears were overwhelmed with the murmur of conversation, the occasional bout of laughter ringing out above the noise. There was a long bar to one side, stacked with bottles and barrels, manned by several harassed-looking individuals. Torches hung from the ceiling, and a set of stairs to the rear led to the other levels.

Baurus scanned the room silently. "Looks like he's not here," he muttered.

_"Ha! You're out. And you said I couldn't-"_

"_Hey, Wirich! You want to keep playing, or have you lost enough money already?"_

_"Hurry up and deal."_

_"Okay, okay. Five cards each."_

Templar turned to him. "Wasn't that guy's name Wirich or something?"

"You're right," Baurus said, a little anxiously. Suddenly, he moved off into the crowd, beckoning Templar to follow. The Blade took a seat at the bar and called for a drink. "Sit down and don't say anything," he said quietly. Templar obeyed, and sat down next to him.

"Listen. I'm going to get up in a minute and walk out of here. That guy in the corner with the long grey hair will follow me. You wait here until I come back."

"What? I'm not staying here."

"Yes you are. It'll be better if I go alone."

"Nope. I'm coming with you," Templar said stubbornly.

Baurus sighed. "Fine. I'll go first, and you follow me after a few minutes. Okay?"

"Okay. By the way, the enemy have taken the Amulet."

To Templar's surprise, Baurus didn't even blink. "I know," he replied. "I've been told. Anyway, just be quiet. I'm going." The Blade stood up. "And remember to _wait_. I want to see what he does." He walked off, weaving through the tables towards the stairs to the cellar, and abruptly disappeared from view.

Templar watched. After about half a minute, a grey-haired man with brown clothes got up from one of the tables and walked down the same set of steps.

"Did your friend order a beer?" a voice said in front of him. It was Luther Broad himself.

"Uh, yes. I'll keep it safe for him." Templar took the glass and stared at it reflectively. Then he took a sip. He looked up, and saw the barman staring at him thoughtfully.

"He won't mind," Templar said quickly.

"I'm sure he won't. You've got a moustache."

"What? Oh." Templar wiped a hand across his lips to remove the froth. _Has that been a two minutes? I'm sure it has._

"I'm, uh, just going to the toilet," Templar announced. He stood up and walked over to the stairs, trying to be discreet. _I'm not spying on a death cult, I'm just having a stretch. _At the stairs, he stopped and listened for a moment, but couldn't hear anything that indicated life-threatening danger. He slipped around the corner and started descending, keeping one hand on his sword-hilt.

The stairs were dark, only a few candles lighting the way. He reached a landing stacked high with barrels and continued downwards, feeling his way along.

Suddenly, he heard raised voices coming from the room below. They were muffled by the stone, and he couldn't make anything.

"Baurus?" Templar called out.

The voices stopped. Then-

_Clanngggg!_

Swords clashed.

_That is definitely the sound of life-threatening danger. And here I am, running towards it. As usual._

Templar leapt down the rest of the stairs and emerged into the cellar. A few dim torches hung from the ceiling, casting deep shadows in the corners. Shelves of bottles stretched across the room.

_Clanngggg!_

Baurus had dropped his cloak and drawn his sword. Astav Wirich was nowhere to be seen, and had been replaced by a Mythic Dawn assassin, wearing sharp plated armour over deep red robes. The assassin was wielding a vicious-looking mace and has his back to Templar, but Baurus was having trouble blocking his blows.

Templar drew his sword and ran forwards. Then Baurus unexpectedly ducked under the assassin's swing so he was directly in Templar's path.

_Bam!_

Templar slammed into the Blade and they collapsed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Templar felt something slice across his chest and immediately regretted his lack of armour. Then there was a blaze of silver and the assassin jumped over them, morphing back to normal, armour disappearing in mid-air. Astav Wirich ran for the stairs. Templar reached out a hand-

_Zap!_

A bolt of electricity shot from his fingers and hit the assassin in the back. He tripped and fell to the floor, groaning. Baurus hurriedly untangled himself and ran over to the man, while Templar pressed his shirt into the cut where Baurus' sword had nicked him.

"He's dead," the Blade said.

"What? That bolt wasn't strong enough to kill him."

"Hmph," Baurus snorted. "You're obviously stronger than you think. Maybe he hit his head on the steps. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, it's just a cut. Another one won't hurt."

"That's the attitude I like to see." The Blade seemed much more relaxed. _There isn't much else to do when your target is lying dead in front of you._

"Templar, help me search the body." Baurus was patting down the man's pockets. He found a purse with a few gold coins and pocketed it. "If he's got family we'll send it to them – otherwise, the Blades can always use some extra funds," he explained.

Then Templar saw something lying on the floor by the wall. He picked it up.

It was a book with a battered red cover, covered in angular black lettering which looked faintly demonic. It was fairly thin, containing only a handful of browning pages. He opened it to the first page and glanced at the title.

_Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, Book 1. Sounds kinda mystical._

"Hey. Look at this." Templar handed the book to Baurus. "Think it's important?"

"I don't know," he said slowly. "I think one of the other Blades said something about a book, but I'm not sure. I might investigate it myself."

Templar was silent for a moment. "Actually, Baurus, can I do that? I need something to keep me occupied.."

The Blade looked worried. "You sure? That book might be dangerous."

"No, I'll do it. But Astav Wirich had the same armour as the men who killed the Emperor. If we are dealing with the Mythic Dawn, they must be pretty widespread."

"You have no idea. We run into them everywhere, but can never manage to actually catch them doing something. I guess they did notice I was onto them."

There was a silence for a moment.

"We found Uriel's heir, as well," Templar added.

"Really?" Baurus said surprisedly. "Well, I didn't know _that_. I suppose that can only mean good news for us."

"If he doesn't manage to die on us as well." _That is entirely possible, considering his stupidity. He'll probably accidentally fall of the wall of the Temple and break his neck, knowing our luck. But I do like him, secretly. Promise!_

"The Blades will protect Martin until he can claim his throne, don't worry. Or we'll die trying."

_Well, that's a rather stereotypical answer. But comforting all the same. _There was another pause. Templar flipped through his new book idly.

"Tell me, Baurus..." he began. "What happened down there, after I left."

"Nothing. Don't-

_Baurus watched as Templar disappeared into the gloom. _

_"Talos is a god. I'm sure he can multitask..."_

_"So Glenroy's dead?"_

_"Akatosh save us."_

_He felt the brave face he'd put on fade away. But he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe the Emperor could've lived. In someone else had been there-_

_No. _

_In spite of everything, he was still grateful. It was just that he still loved the Emperor. It was all he'd ever known. But there was a cold, hard body on the floor behind him, and that was all that mattered._

_A cold, hard body..._

_"If I die, it is for a reason. The world will go on. Another will rise to take my place. I have seen many hardships, but through the storm lies a new era of hope."_

_A new era of hope. If only he knew..._

_Water dripped from the ceiling, echoing softly as it hit the floor. Dust lay in the air, disturbed from years of rest by the... assassination. The slaughter._

_May Talos guide us to our destiny._

_There lies a choice between Creation and Destruction._

_We must all play our part._

_With your help, may we prosper for the benefit of all._

_He knelt over the Emperor's body for a long while, until he heard the booted feet of his comrades come running to assist them. Except that it was no longer 'them.' There was only one left. One who shouldn't be left._

_They were too late._

_Too late._

-worry about it."

_I don't think he's quite over it yet. Maybe he still blames me a little. But time passes. _"Okay. I won't. By the way, Jauffre sends his regards. He says... you shouldn't blame yourself for the Emperor's death. And you did well to send me to him"

"Oh. Okay." The Blade smiled. "I hope you don't regret it. And I am glad to see you, by the way. You just caught me at a bad time."

---

The moon was bright, casting silvery across the world. Baurus sat on his bed, muttering softly. "Dammit, Templar. Wirich could have been alive if it wasn't for your f--king interference." He sighed, and stood up. "The Emperor could've been alive, and that could've-"

The next thing he felt was a knife pressed up against his throat. A voice spoke out of the darkness.

"Well, _some_one's been looking around in very dark places..."


	26. First Steps

_Author's Note: It's a short chapter, this time. Anyway, I've just finished school for the year (yes!) so I'll have a bit more time to write._

_EDIT: Fixed some typos which were irritating me._

First Steps

_**Luther Broad's Boarding House, Elven Gardens District, The Imperial City, Hearthfire 5 3E433**_

He opened the door, and discovered it was raining. Pouring, in fact. Droplets the size of a baby's eyeball – _oh, gods, that's a disgusting image – _droplets the size of shrivelled cherries splattered down onto the pavement in front of him. Everything was covered in a glistening sheen of water. There was a flash of lightning in the distance, and a few seconds later, thunder boomed. The sky was dark, and the stars were covered by murky grey stormclouds. Trees swayed from side to side as the wind picked up, blowing abandoned rubbish and dead leaves across the street.

Templar had decided to hurry up and investigate his new book instead of turning in for the night, but was soon regretting that decision.

"Commentaries on the Mythic Dawn. I hope you're worth it," he said to himself. He checked to make sure the book was safe inside his hopefully-waterproof pack. The scruffy red cover stared up at him mournfully, nestled between two steel shoulderpads.

"Good for you, little book. At least you get to stay dry."

Sadly, the book didn't say anything back.

Templar set off into the rain, his stomach filled with a nice, hot meal. _Well, at least the bits of gristle weren't _too_ obvious. _Baurus had left straight away after telling him where the university was, off to organise the cleanup of Luther Broad's cellar. When the serving boys went down to get new wine barrels, they always came back looking slightly nervous.

He jogged off down the street, heading vaguely southwards. As he passed underneath an overhead walkway he was bathed in a warm glow of light from the windows either side. There was a clock set in the side of the walkway, surrounded by delicately sculpted figures, its hands set at nine o'clock.

There was another flash of lightning. The thunder was closer this time, rattling doors and windows. A watchman walked past unhappily, followed by a carriage that skidded around the corner at an obscenely high speed.

He passed through the Talos Plaza – _that dragon's becoming an old friend nowadays _- and decided to cut through Green Emperor Way. _Have I been here before? I can't remember. I've done so much in the past week._ In any case, the district's high walls had trapped some thick fog, obscuring anything more than twenty paces away.

_How long have I been walking now? Too long. Oh well, I should practice a bit more magic when I get back to the Temple. Learn some new spells._

_Wait. What did Cyrus say… if practice makes perfect, but nobody's perfect, why practice?_

_Exactly._

_Oh, good, it's the Arboretum._

Templar did remember coming here once, just after he'd rescued Martin from Kvatch. It had looked a lot less threatening then. Trees drooped miserably, leaves heavy with moisture. The statues in the centre loomed over him, malevolent shadows in the darkness. He almost jumped as someone appeared out of the fog. It was an Argonian, who hurried past silently.

_Come to think of it, I wonder how Captain Matius is doing? And Jesan and the rest of them. Probably cleaning up the city, I suppose. Someone did say something about the Elder Council pledging millions of Septims to the rebuilding effort._

_Who was that?_

_That must have been Brother Piner. I think it was, anyway. I wonder if they have a new Brother at the Priory._

Templar began jogging again, and didn't stop until he reached the door to the Arcane University. He walked through the large gates and onto a wide stone bridge, which arched over a small, dark valley. Ahead of him, the towers of the university emerged from the mist, surrounded by tall trees. There was a second gate at the other end of the bridge.

_I wonder, is the sequel to Lord of the Silver Bow out yet? I'll have to get it. And a waterproof cloak. _

He realised the gates ahead of him were closed, flanked by two legionnaires. One of them stared at him.

"Cards. Now."

Templar looked more closely. "Oh god, it's you."

"It's me."

"What are the chances of seeing you every single time I come to this city?"

"Quite low."

The other legionnaire was staring straight ahead, grinning a little.

"Unfortunately I'm going to have to decline. Stuff-"

"-to do?" the legionnaire interrupted. "It's always 'stuff to do!' This is a damn boring job, it's been raining for the whole afternoon now, and do you have any idea what time it is? It's damn late, that's what it is! What on EARTH COULD BE THAT IMPORTANT!"

"Well, it's just important."

"Oh, is it. I am so tempted to just stand here and keep the gate shut until you give in," the guard retorted.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh yes I would."

"I'll zap you," Templar said threateningly.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh yes I would. I don't care if it's against the law."

"Fine," the legionnaire muttered. "Fine. If that's the way you want it." He beckoned to his partner and they heaved on the doors, which opened with a groan.

"Thank you," Templar said. "By the way, I'm Templar."

"I'm Corporal Nobbs. And this is Sergeant Colon." The other guard gave a little wave. "And tell those idiot wizards in there to grease the hinges of this block of wood occasionally."

"Uh, I think I'll pass on that one. And about the cards… I'll get back to you once the world's ended."

"Is that soon?"

"Possibly." Templar walked through the gates and entered the University itself. There were steps leading down the base of the tower in front of him, braziers filled with the same violet fire on either side. Imperial battlemages stood by the entrance, cloaked in purple and green. They pulled open the door as he approached, and shut it firmly behind him.

The first thing he noticed was the warm, dry air. The lobby was a large, circular room lit by candelabras hanging from the high ceiling. Banners were draped across the walls, bearing the green-and-gold eye symbol of the Mage's Guild. Doors were spaced around the far end, leading to different parts of the University. There was also a glowing stone circle covered in magical-looking inscriptions, which Templar immediately distrusted. A carpet covered most of the floor, the same eye woven into the design.

There were two male mages standing around near the stone circle. As he watched, one of them stood on it, raised his arm and vanished. Templar decided to ignore that and instead looked at the room's other occupant. An old, female Argonian was sitting on a bench near the middle of the lobby, reading a thick, dusty manuscript. Her finger traced the words as she read, line after line, mouthing the syllables softly. She wore a pale green robe outlined with gold, and a brown veil over the back of her head. Her mottled tail dangled on the floor behind her.

_Well, she fits the description Baurus gave me. Old Argonian woman. Green robes. And she just happens to be sitting in the lobby, just in case a visitor with a strange book decides to drop in looking for help. What was her name again?_

Templar realised he was dripping all over the doorstep and hurried over. "Um… are you Tar Meena?"

The Argonian looked up at him with questioning reptilian eyes. "Yes." she rasped. The clusters of spikes on each side of her head twisted a little. "Ah, you must be the one I got the message about."

"That was quick. I didn't know Baurus had seen you already."

"The message was from elsewhere. How can I help you?"

Templar thought for a moment. _Elsewhere…_"I'm investigating the Mythic Dawn."

Tar Meena's eyes widened in interest. "You know of them? One of the most secretive of all the daedric cults. Not much is known about them. Not where they meet, not how widespread they are…"

Templar did a double take. "So there's _lots _of cults running around in Cyrodiil? Isn't that dangerous?" _What if the Mythic Dawn aren't responsible? I mean, honestly, don't you love this job? Instead of being hunted by just one bloodthirsty cult, we could be hunted by fifty bloodthirsty cults!_

"Most are harmless. Lots of monsters, lots of daedric lords, lots of gods. Therefore, lots of cults. Makes sense. Anyway, the Mythic Dawn follow the teachings of Mankar Camoran, whom they call the Master. A shadowy figure in his own right."

_Mankar Camoran, Mankar Camoran, I have to remember that. _"I found one of their books," Templar continued.

"Really? I won't ask where from." Templar opened his backpack and pulled it out. Tar Meena took it and examined it closely. "Have a seat, have a seat. Rude of me to keep you standing. Ah, yes, _Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, _Volume 1. Wonderful! You have a scholarly interest in the daedric cults, then?"

"Not really. I need to find them."

"What for?" The mage stared at him, waiting for an answer.

"I'm a Blade. We think they may be linked to the Emperor's death," Templar replied.

"Dark times, dark times," Tar Meena murmured. "Find them, eh? I won't poke my nose any further. Official business and all that. I'm used to working with the Blades, don't worry." She paused. "In any case, finding them won't be easy. I've studied Mankar Camoran's writings myself, at least those that I could find. It is clear from the text – well, quite clear, it's… a little jumbled – that the _Commentaries_ come in four volumes, but I've only ever seen the first two books."

_Four volumes, four volumes, I have to remember that. Damn, I have to find _four_ of them? And I thought this would be easy. No risk to life and limb, just find the Mythic Dawn. Simple… apparently._

"I believe that his writings contain clues to the location of the Mythic Dawn's secret shrine to Merhunes Dagon – I assume you know about him."

"I do." _All too well…_

"Those who unlock this hidden path have proven themselves worthy to join the ranks of the Mythic Dawn cult. Finding the shrine is the first test."

_There's more than one test? And I thought this would be- _"So, where can I find the books? I assume they're hard to get, if the University doesn't have them."

"You can have the library's copy of Volume 2. Treat it gently, please. As I said, I've never seen the third and fourth volumes. You should try First Edition, over in the Market District."

"I think I've been there before, actually."

"Good. Phineas, the proprietor, caters to specialist collectors. He may have an idea of where to locate those books. He seems to object to selling things to the University, though. Always hides when I come in. Anyway, just say you're looking for _Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes_ Volumes 3 and 4, by Mankar Camoran."

"Would – would he still be alive?" Templar asked.

"Who, Camoran or Phineas? I haven't put a curse on Phineas yet, so he should still be healthy."

"Uh-"

"Don't worry, I know what you mean. The Commentaries are contemporary with Tiber Septim, over four hundred years ago. So he is unlikely to still be alive. Although you never know." The Argonian shrugged.

Templar had one last question. "If these are the Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, where's the actual Mysterium Xarxes? Isn't that more important?"

"Yes, but I doubt you'll be able to find it, no matter how hard you look. It is the holy book of the Mythic Dawn. Supposedly written by Dagon himself. If it exists, it would an artifact of great – and evil – power."

"So finding the Commentaries is the best bet, then."

"Yes," Tar Meena answered.

"And I should look in First Edition."

"Yes."

"Well, that's that, I suppose," Templar sighed.

Tar Meena stood up. "Wait here. I'll go and get Volume 2 for you." She slipped out through one of the doors.

Suddenly, Templar had a thought. He called after her. "Wait, Tar Meena!-"

She looked back through the doorway. "Yes?"

"Can you restore memories that have been… erased?" Templar began to feel a pulsing pain in his forehead.

The mage nodded. "I can. Though some memories are best left alone. I'm sure you know that."

"I do, but…"

"Very well. When you have the time, come back to me." She turned, and shut the door behind her.

_Ah, well, something to look forward to. _Templar began wringing out his sodden sleeves, to the disgust of the other mage in the room. _The first steps on the Path of Dawn. It hasn't been too bad, apart from accidentally killing a Mythic Dawn agent, talking with a mildly cranky Argonian mage and walking through the lake known as Cyrodiil. Oh, yes, and being yelled at for refusing to have a game of cards._

_Honestly, how hard can it be?_


	27. First Edition

_Author's Note: Fifty reviews! Whoo! Anyway, everything's good down this end, except the fact that each chapter seems to take longer and longer. Any ideas, anyone? Any criticisms? I apologise for the convoluted multiple choice again if you don't like that sort of thing. Multiple choice IN a multiple choice! It plays hell with continuity! It's madness!_

_If I liked the movie 300 I would say, at this point, 'it's not madness, it's Sparta!' but I didn't really, so I won't. Let's get dangerous, CaptainSkittlez..._

_EDIT: Changed some details of Templar's various errands, to save a bit of time and space._

First Edition

_**The Foaming Flagon, Talos Plaza District, The Imperial City, Hearthfire 6 3E433**_

Templar's mood was sunny, just like his eggs. _Ha! Take that Cyrodiil's comedians! Wait. That doesn't really work. Because eggs are sunny side up, not sunny, that would just mean – hmm… _He read the newspaper idly, sitting back in his chair. The eggs were very good, though.

---

"_Dark Brotherhood Claims another Victim: Faelian Lorokmir, a highly respected Altmer noble, was found dead in his room at the Tiber Septim Hotel yesterday morning, most probably a victim of foul play. There was no apparent motive for the murder, but Lorokmir was rumoured to have a skooma addiction which may have been to blame. The City Watch are refusing to comment as of yet, but a spokesman says that there may be a link to the Dark Brotherhood. The owners of the Tiber Septim Hotel urge visitors not to be discouraged by the attack, and say that the hotel will now have an increased night guard._"

"_Necromancers Coming Back From the Dead: Yet another attack by a group of rogue necromancers took place near Skingrad two days ago. A Mages Guild representative was ambushed in the forest west of the city; however, a rare appearance by the Count of Skingrad drove the group away. The Count and Mages Guild both state that they are attempting to control the new insurgency, and that a final solution is close at hand."_

"_A Damsel in Distress: A mysterious adventurer has saved Lady Rogbut gro-Shurgak from a group of trolls. Lord Rugdumph gro-Shurgak, who made his fortune in the lumber industry, was first alerted his daughter's disappearance when she did not return from a swim in the nearby Lakis River. After failing to find her himself, Lord Rugdumph requested help from the Fighters Guild hall in Cheydinhal. Soon afterwards, a "tall-looking Imperial" returned to Lord Rugdumph's estate, daughter in tow. Lady Rogbut commented on her saviour: 'Oh, he was so brave! I had been captured by three huge trolls, and they had tied me to a tree – suddenly, he appeared over the hill behind them and killed all three, just like that! He was so gallant, too, he didn't want anything for saving me, but my father insisted and gave him his sword. I'm sure he will use it well!' The adventurer himself was very modest, saying that 'it was his duty.'"_

**Been to the Arena recently? We hope not – because the Divad Circus is back in town! The Arena has been transformed into a whirlwind of colour and action – watch in delight as acrobats swing from the new big top, and laugh as the dancing bears perform their all new jazz routine! We're only here from Hearthfire 4 to Hearthfire 16, though, so hurry up and don't miss out on the Divad Brothers Spectacular!**

---

_A mysterious adventurer? I'd better go and find him. We can't have two heroes running around – saving the world is a one-Templar job._

_And a circus! I'll have to go and see that sometime._

He put the newspaper on the table next to his plate and stood up. It had been a long, lonely walk back to the Talos Plaza last night, and the Foaming Flagon was the only other inn in the District besides the famously expensive Tiber Septim Hotel. And his coins were running out far too quickly.

He'd read through Volumes 1 and 2 of the Mythic Dawn Commentaries before he went to bed, but could find any sort of clue in them, just a lot of jumbled nonsense in hard-to-read script. Maybe the fact that it was 11 o'clock at night had something to do with it. _Anyway, I'll try again tonight._

There were little bits of dust swirling around in the morning sun, moving erratically with every breath he took. A week ago that would have reminded him of… something. Darker things. But now he managed to stop himself from thinking about it.

_He liked how they whirled every which way when you blew them. Insignificant little things. Just like human-_

Still, it was an unpleasant reminder.

_And not at all suitable for a bright and happy morning like this one. A morning that will probably be ruined by another encounter with the Mythic Dawn and/or certain death. Oh, well, you shouldn't be pessimistic._

"Shouldn't be pessimistic," Templar said out loud. "Let's go and buy some books!"

---

The familiar cobbles of the Market District passed beneath his feet, red-tiled rooves and white stone walls glinting in the sunshine. Everything was clean, and, for a change, dry. A steady river of people swirled through the streets and alleyways, browsing at stalls or resting on benches. There was a slight haze of smoke to the east as the city's smelters began pumping out war supplies in response to the 'Oblivion Crisis', as it had become known.

Templar looked around for twenty minutes before he finally managed to track the bookshop down. First Edition was a store like any other, situated between a textile merchant and a post office. There was a large display window outside, flaunting the latest bestsellers and rare books, and some very rich customers. Templar briefly wondered if he'd be kicked out for being too scruffy, and walked in anyway.

Inside, it was surprisingly dim and musty. Shelves of… books… stretched into the distance. There were a few reading tables by the door, surrounded by pots of bright flowers, and some very secure-looking lanterns in iron cages hung from the ceiling. There were a fair few people inside, all browsing aimlessly, in the manner of all bookstore customers who can't find the book they're looking for, but have instead found three other books they like and are trying to decide which one to spend their money on.

Templar found himself walking down the aisles. _The Eyre Affair... The Reality Dysfunction... Shield of Thunder! Better take that one. That's the sequel to the Silver Bow book I've been reading, isn't it?_

_Shouldn't be getting sidetracked. Shouldn't be getting sidetracked. Damn, but I wish I could see the circus._

In the end, he took the book and dragged himself off to the counter. It was manned by a thoroughly emotionless, broad-shouldered man with tanned skin, in an expensive brown doublet. He was scribbling frantically on a roll of parchment, as a Khajiit tapped his foot impatiently in front of him. The shopkeeper finished writing and handed over a book with a green leather cover. The Khajiit walked off, and Templar stepped up inconspicuously. The shopkeeper smiled at him.

"I'm Phintias, owner and proprietor of the First Edition. If I don't have it, maybe I can get it, so… what do you need?" The grin was almost blinding.

"Well, first I'd like this," Templar answered, acutely aware of his slightly damp, rather plain clothes. He put Shield of Thunder on the desk. "And then I'd like to know if you have any volumes of Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, by Mankar Camoran." _Good, at least I can remember _something.

"The Mythic Dawn Commentaries. An interesting choice. Well, the first two volumes are rare, but you may run across them from time to time. The third and fourth, however, are impossible to find." Phintias paused.

_This sounds unpleasant already._ "I have Volumes One and Two. But unfortunately Three and Four are the ones I'm looking for. I have money," Templar added.

Phintias' eyes flickered downwards. "I happen to have a copy of Volume Three on hand, but I'm afraid it is a… special order. Already paid for by another customer. Gwinas – that's his name – would be terribly disappointed, not to mention annoyed if it was gone when he came to pick it up."

_Damn. _"I need it kind of urgently. Would it help if I told you it was for the Emperor's Blades?"

"I'm afraid I couldn't sell it to you for anything. I've already promised it to someone else," the shopkeeper said seriously, "and my word is my bond. I can tell you when another copy of it turns up if you give me your address, though."

"What about Volume Four, then?"

"I wish I had one, but I've never even seen a copy."

_He doesn't _look_ like he's lying._ "Would I be able to talk to Gwinas, then?"

"I think so. I don't know him personally, but he was very eager to get his hands on Camoran's _Commentaries_. Came all the way from Valenwood!" Phintias said proudly.

_If I knew where that was, I would probably be more impressed. But Gwinas is beginning to look slightly suspicious._

_Valenwood: _

"As a matter of fact, he's already late for his appointment to pick up the book. Feel free to wait for him if you want to speak to him yourself."

"Okay. Thanks." _Well, this is a puzzle. What to do?_

_If you decide to wait and talk to Gwinas afterwards, go to Section 1._

_If you try and become BFFT (best friends for today, which is an annoying, omnipresent internet acronym my friends have started using) with Phintias and convince him to just let you have the damn book, go to Section 2. It's a fair way down, about 1/3 of the way through._

_If you decide to be… unconventional… and steal the book instead, go to Section 3. It's even more of a fair way down, about 2/3 of the way through._

---

1

"Okay. Thanks." _Well, this is a puzzle. What to do? _"I might wait for Gwinas and talk to him." _That seems to be the easiest option._

"I'll let him know you asked about him, if you're not here when he comes."

"Good. Thank you again." Templar went over to the wall and sat at one of the reading tables. Phintias resumed serving his other customers. _Maybe Gwinas won't want the book when he knows what it truly stands for. Or I can just apply some unreasonable force. Either way, as long as we get the book._

Templar waited for an hour, got bored, bought a waterproof cloak, decided that he didn't really need a new sword yet, discovered that he was running out of money, and went back to the bookshop. As narrative convenience would have it, there was a short, slightly neurotic-looking man waiting at the counter. Templar sidled up to one of the nearby windows and stood there, looking innocent. A minute or so later, Phintias emerged from the rear of the bookshop.

The short man said something, which Templar strained to hear. "-for my book… Commentaries, Volume Three."

He moved closer. Phintias noticed him and shot him a wary glance.

"Ah, of course. Here you go." He reached under the counter and pulled out a familiar red-and-black book. "Keep us in mind for any future needs!"

_It was just there? I could have taken it while he wasn't looking._

"Thank you, thank you! I can't tell you how long I've been looking for this!"

_Well, he sounds eager. Maybe he won't want to part with the damn thing._

Gwinas walked past Templar and exited the shop, red robe swishing about his feet. Templar waited for a moment, winked at Phintias, and followed. Then he thought for a moment, and walked back over to the shopkeeper.

"What?"

"Well, I thought I should let you know that Tar-Meena from the Arcane University is getting annoyed with you."

Phintias sighed. "And what is she going to do about it? She's a lizard."

"Prejudice? You were selling books to cats all morning."

"Well…"

"They had money," Templar finished for him. "And you're a shopkeeper, so you have to make a profit."

"Yes, actually."

_You are truly an obnoxious little man._ But Templar didn't say it. There was a slim chance that Phintias would be able to uncover Volume 4 for him. "I'm sure Tar Meena would pay you too."

Phintias sighed again. "Please don't try and lecture me about morals. You should get out of the way, there's people waiting. I'll keep a lookout for Volume 4."

"Good. Tar-Meena said she'd curse you if you didn't start listening to her though."

"Curse? What curse?"

Templar left the bookshop owner behind and emerged into the sunlight. A few vendors had set up stalls outside, their loud, irritating shouts filling Templar's ears. People thronged the wide street outside, and Templar realised he'd probably lost Gwinas already. Then he saw a flash of bright red and yellow down the south end of the street; that combination of greasy hair and garish clothes was unmistakeable. Templar began pushing off through the crowd. Gwinas must have been in a hurry, as he wasn't stopping for anything. Then he turned the corner and disappeared from view.

Templar jogged into a side street, hoping to come out ahead of his target by avoiding the crowd. Dark grey walls rose up on either side, throwing the alley into shadow. A supply cart trundled past, through the stagnant puddles of yesterday's rain. At the next junction Templar turned right, towards the street that the elf was (hopefully) heading towards. This road was a little wider, lined by smaller specialist shops and townhouses.

The main street was barely twenty metres ahead when Gwinas walked past the intersection. Templar ran to the junction and followed. He gained steadily as the little elf – well, he had pointy ears, anyway – weaved through some sort of streetside performance. Jugglers, or something. It must have been fascinating, by the number of people watching. Suddenly, Templar saw two cats fly high into the air, yowling madly.

"_MEEEOWARGHGGH!_"

"And that, ladies and gentleman, is that! Now, who wants to see _four cats!_"

He forced himself to keep going. Gwinas was barely metres ahead, having also been distracted by the cat-juggling phenomenon.

Then Templar had a bright idea, which was a nice change. He called out. "Hey! Gwinas!" The Bosmer turned to face him, eyes wide with paranoia. "If you want Volume 4 of Mankar Camoran's Commentaries, follow me! I heard you're looking for a copy!" Templar gestured to a nearby doorway, with a sign above it that said '_Black Horse Couriers_'.

Gwinas looked at him with a mixture of astonishment and suspicion. "What? Volume 4?"

Templar nodded in what he though was a reassuring way. "Yes!" Doubt and greed flashed across the elf's face. Greed won.

"Okay. But if this is a trick, I'll… I'll set the Watch on you or – something."

Templar pulled open the door of Black Horse Couriers and waited to see if the elf following. Then he ventured inside cautiously. _I hope that actually getting Book 4 will be this simple_. At least it was busy inside, so people wouldn't notice them arguing, if it came to that.

The Black Horse – _there was burning, he could remember, but that was only the end. A man can change. The beginning was more… alone. He didn't even know how it started. Just one night… There was a stable. Horses stared at him with baleful eyes, afraid of – something. A black stallion caught his eye, its flanks still heaving from the journey, its rider in the nearby inn for a well-earned rest. The rider, something about the rider, leaping… But it just would not do. Maybe he could – _Courier was Cyrodiil's leading newspaper. Templar found himself in a large entry hall, writing desks lining the walls, interspersed with a few wilting pot plants. People were scribbling furiously on bits of parchment, quills scratching in an irritating way. Every now and then someone important-looking would fly around the edge of then room, collecting papers at random. There was a reception desk in the corner, with a few people lined up behind it. One of them was holding a carrot that looked like a-

"Do we have that story on the Dibella Chapel yet? Everyone there was murdered, for Akatosh's sake, it's urgent we get that to print!"

_Something blue and angry flashed in Templar's vision. A woman's face, alternating between despair and anger._

_There was red laughter in the background. That was strange. Usually the red one was angry…_

"I'm sorry, William, but one of the printing presses has broken down. We're trying, but-"

Gwinas walked up to him. "Well?"

_If you lie about having Book 4, got to Block 5._

_If you say that you don't have Book 4, go to Block 6._

---

5

Templar took out his copy of Volume 2, making sure his fingers were covering the big fat '2' on the spine. Gwinas reached out for it, and Templar pulled it away quickly. "Not so fast. There's something I have to know first."

"What?" Gwinas said annoyedly.

"Do you have a copy of Volume Three?"

"Yes."

_If you say you'll buy it from Gwinas, go to Block 7._

_If you tell him to just give you the book, go to Block 8. _

_If you ask him about the Mythic Dawn, go to Block 9. _

---

6

"Actually, I lied," Templar said bluntly. "I don't have Volume Four. But I need to talk to you. About Volume Three."

Gwinas tried to dodge around Templar to the door, but Templar blocked him. "Have you been following me? Leave me alone! That book is mine! I've come so far to get it, I've waited-"

"Fine, fine, great," Templar interrupted.

_If you say you'll buy it from Gwinas, go to Block 7._

_If you tell him to just give you the book, go to Block 8. _

_If you ask him about the Mythic Dawn, go to Block 9. _

---

7

"Anyway, the whole reason for this is that I want to buy Book Three from you."

Gwinas closed up. "It isn't for sale. You'll have to find a copy somewhere else."

"Name a price."

"No. The book is mine, and I have my own means to get Volume Four anyway." Gwinas realised he shouldn't have said that, and stopped talking.

_Well, this could be useful. Time for a bit of persuasion._

_If you say that you really do need his copy, go to Block 10._

_If you decide to ask him about the Mythic Dawn, go to Block 9._

_If you ignore all subtlety and threaten him like the brute you are, go to Block 11._

---

8

"Tell you what. Just give me the book and I'll leave." _Oh, yes, well done. That's a great incentive._

"Are you… threatening me?" Gwinas asked."You can't scare me! I'll call the guards if you don't leave at once!"

_Wrong. I can scare you. I can descend upon you and burn you and your blood will be mine-_

Templar realised he was staring at the man rather intensely. He cleared his head. _Time to address that later_. "No. You won't call the guards."

"What do you mean? I'm an upstanding citizen! I have nothing to hide!"

_Well, your rising voice and panicky expression certainly gives that away._

_If you say you're from the blades, go to Block 13._

_If you ask about the Mythic Dawn, go to Block 9._

---

9

"Well, how about this, Gwinas," Templar said, trying to appear friendly. "Tell me about the Mythic Dawn."

"The Mythic Dawn?" he answered, a little too quickly. "Are you… I mean, I don't know what you're talking about-"

"You're just digging yourself deeper, Gwinas."

"-I don't know anything about any cult-"

"Why have you got one of their books, then!" Templar interrupted.

_If you say, 'don't play stupid,' go to Block… damn, I've lost count… ah, Block 14._

_If you say, 'you're in way over your head,' go to Block 15._

---

10

"Look," Templar said slowly. "I really do need your copy. I can't find one anywhere else, because it's urgent. Very, very urgent."

Gwinas tried to stand a bit taller, which didn't really work. "I won't be bullied! I'm not some pathetic bookworm you can just push around! I have friends, you know!" _Ha-ha, he has friends._

People were starting to glance over in their direction. Gwinas' eyes glinted with self-righteous resolve.

_Damn, so he's not a total idiot. That was too much to hope for._

_If you go for the knockout blow and say 'Friends… in the Mythic Dawn?' go to Block 12._

_If you decide to threaten him, go to Block 11._

_If you say that you're from the Blades, go to Block 13._

---

11

Templar reached for his sword hilt and put on his best evil glare, which came to him depressingly easily. "That book is really important. High-up people want it badly. So if you don't give it to me, I'll just have to take it. It's worth more than you."

Gwinas sneered at him. "You can't threaten me here. As soon as you do anything, people will come over to investigate. And you'll end up in prison."

"Really? I don't think so," was the best Templar could think of. _Confound him!_

"Really," Gwinas replied.

"Okay. Sorry. I shouldn't have pressured you. Let's all calm down."

"It's funny how you're the one saying that."

"Whatever." Templar racked his brains.

"Can I go now?" Gwinas asked. "You're not getting the book, I'm not either."

_If you say that you're from the Blades, go to Block 13._

_If you ask him about the Mythic Dawn, go to Block 9._

---

12

"You have friends, huh? Friends… in the Mythic Dawn?" _A mysterious pause always does the trick._

Gwinas didn't hesitate. "I never said anything about the Mythic Dawn. In fact, I don't even know what you're talking about."

_flash_

_Men with torches, on the hill. Up in the forest. Coming closer. "I don't know what you're talking about! He saved us!"_

_"He killed _them_."_

_flash_

_I am so, so tempted to do something unspeakable right now. Maybe I can go and get Baurus. But then the little weasel would just run away._

_If you say, 'don't play stupid,' go to Block 14._

_If you say, 'you're in way over your head,' go to Block 15._

---

13

Templar began to get irritated. "If it helps to convince you at all, of the importance of the book you have in you hot little hands, I am a member of the Blades and the Blades want it so could you give it to me right now!"

"Prove it." Gwinas stood there, smiling infuriatingly.

"Uh…" Templar began.

"You can't, can you? If you _are_ from the Blades, and can give me a good reason to as why the want this book, I _might_ give it to you. But as it is, you're wasting my time."

"You're wasting _my_ time," Templar retorted.

"Mine."

"Mine."

_Go to Block 9 (sorry, but you're not having much success)._

---

14

"Don't play stupid, Gwinas. You know who they are."

The elf didn't react as he was expecting. _Obviously he thinks he can get out of this be being nice. _"Very well. I can see you're familiar with Mankar Camoran's _Commentaries_. I know that daedric cults are not quite the thing socially-"

_Understatement of the year!_

"-but that's just foolish prejudice and superstition. For the adventurous, open-minded thinker, daedric worship holds many rewards."

_Oh dear. Am I actually talking to an intelligent person here?_

"For the adventurous, open-minded thinker, the Mythic Dawn are ev-… not what they seem." Templar raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Just hear me out. Show that you're open-minded." _Yes, yes, be nice. Appeal to his vanity._

_Go to Block 16._

---

15

"Mythic dawn or not," Templar continued, "you're in way over your head. You don't know what you're dealing with here."

Gwinas closed his eyes. "Okay. Fine. I know about the Mythic Dawn."

"Good! We have progress."

"But you presume to tell me about daedric cults?"

_Uh oh, I feel some scholarly rage coming on_.

"I'll have you know that I've visited the Shrine of Sheogorath during the festival of the Mad!-"

_I've never been to that one. Was it fun? You'd fit right in._

"-I've spoken with Hermaeus Mora beneath the full moon! I've-"

_Hermaeus must have hated that. _"Okay, I get it. But I know something which is much more important."

"No, you don't. I have studied the daedric cults for years. My work is going to be published."

_How many stubborn, stupid people do I have to deal with these days? There's the heir to the throne, random brigands, people in general, and now…_

_Go to Block 16._

---

16

"Well, Gwinas, how about this? The Mythic Dawn killed the Emperor. The Mythic Dawn destroyed Kvatch. The Mythic Dawn are _dangerous_, you idiot!"

"What? They can't have! Nobody knows who murdered the Emperor! I know all about the daedric cults!"

"I was there. And believe me, they did."

"No! What about Kvatch, then, how are the Mythic Dawn responsible for _that_?!

"Think about it, Gwinas. What could open a gate to Oblivion? The Mages' Guild isn't powerful enough anymore. The Gods wouldn't do it. The Necromancers would rather play in graveyards. That leaves the daedric princes, specifically, the Prince of Destruction. And who do the Dawn worship? Why, Merhunes Dagon himself!"

Gwinas' voice shrunk to a whisper. "They can't be… They promised so much…"

"They are, Gwinas. I bet that they lure in hopeful idiots like you and just brainwash the hell out of you," Templar said harshly.

"They can't be. They can't!"

"They killed the Emperor. People with red robes killed the Emperor. You probably have some stashed away in your cupboard, don't you? Those men that attacked Weynon Priory a few days ago, they were Mythic Dawn agents. They destroyed Kvatch. Just think of all those people. I was there too, and it was more horrible than you can imagine."

"You were there?" Gwinas blinked. "The Mythic Dawn were the ones-"

"Give me the book. I suppose you don't want it now."

Gwinas ignored him. "You have to believe me! I truly had no idea. I mean, I knew they were a daedric cult. Mankar Camoran's views on Merhunes Dagon are fascinating, revolutionary even… But they were wrong! To murder the Emperor, to unleash the hordes, I didn't think they would… Mara preserve us!"

"Give me the book," Templar said again.

"Yes. Of course! I don't want anyone to think I had anything to do with their insane plots!"

_Here comes the self-interest again. But this time to _my_ advantage._

"Here. Volume Three is yours." Gwinas almost threw the book at him. "What you do with it is your business."

"It's official business."

"It had better be, or, or I'll set the Watch on you."

Templar winced. All the stress was flooding out of him, now that he had the third volume in hand. "That would be awkward. If you ever have any doubts, ask for Baurus at Luther Broad's Boarding House. He'll tell you what you need to know."

"Fine, fine." Gwinas was eager to get away.

"By the way, would you happen to have a copy of Volume Four?"

The elf shook his head. "You can only get Volume Four directly from a member of the Mythic Dawn. I _had_ set up a meeting with the Sponsor, as he called himself. There's a note they gave me in the book. It tells you where to go. I don't want anything else to do with the Mythic Dawn. I don't, I don't, I don't!" Gwinas said desperately.

"Quiet!" Templar said. People were beginning to look at them again. "And if you say anything about this, I'll tell the Watch you were with the Mythic Dawn."

"Okay," Gwinas said meekly. "I won't, I won't, I won't-"

"Good. That's a wise choice. By the way, maybe you should join the cult of the Prince of Madness. Sheogorath, or something? I really do think it'd be perfect for you."

Templar left Gwinas standing in Black Horse Couriers. He had a new sense of purpose, and for once he knew where he had to go, and what he had to do. Not much could go wrong, and he'd almost found the Mythic Dawn.

This was a nice change.

---

"OH MY GOD YOU JUST HIT ME IN THE FACE!"

"That's right. You want some more?"

"No! No!"

_How in Oblivion did this happen? One moment everyone's just sitting here, drinking good-naturedly, playing a few games, and now someone has just punched me in the face because there is a great big stupid BAR FIGHT. By the GODS, sometimes I hate this world._

Templar saw that the man who'd just beaten him up was otherwise preoccupied, so Templar hit him it the back of the head with a barstool. _Take that! Why be brave when you can be… devious? _Someone's legs came rushing towards his face. Templar thought he saw their owner hanging from a chandelier-

He stumbled backwards, arms wheeling about. _Don't they only do that swinging thing in books?_ There were a few men and a big-looking woman having, for want of a better term, a ruckus to his left. The woman screamed something violent and rude, and grabbed the nearest man in a headlock. The path to the door was momentarily clear, so Templar decided to run for it.

Someone flew past him, crashing through the window to his left. Templar ducked to avoid the flying glass, but kept running.

"HALT! WHAT IS THIS DISTURBANCE?"

Every face in the bar turned at once to face the new presence. Someone gasped, possibly in admiration.

In front of Templar – _between me and the door, unfortunately_ – was a tall man in _really_ cool armour. Well, it was majestic too. And shining, and wonderful, and probably good at providing protection, which is always good in a suit of armour. The greaves and armguards were all tight-fitting and elegantly curved, made of bright silvery metal and lined with gold filigree, a ridge running down the centre. The upper leg was protected by leather flaps and fine chainmail, held together by a scarlet belt with a silver buckle. The breastplate was exquisitely moulded, showing off the wearer's finely-sculpted form and covered in the same gold designs, topped off with thick shoulderpads and an arched neckguard. The helmet was open at the front, sheets of polished steel protecting each cheek, with a red horsehair crest jutting from the top.

_I wonder if Varnado can get _that_ for me?_

"YOU ARE A DISGRACE!" the man boomed. "FIGHTING LIKE CHILDREN!"

Everyone cowered a little, and stared at each other shamefacedly.

The man continued in a less commanding tone. "Now, could Vantus, Rellian and Dubok all come outside please? I've been asked to deal with you. And…" His eyes scanned the room of guilty faces before him, before settling on Templar. "You. You come with me as well. You can help me sort out what has happened in this fine establishment."

_Me?_

_Don't ask me, I only work here._

Templar realised that the blood running from his nose didn't give the best image.

"And if the rest of you do _ANYTHING_ while I'm gone, you can expect… swift and just retribution. Now, go back to your drinks." The man waved a hand, and disappeared outside. Templar followed cautiously. The three unfortunate men whose names had been called weren't far behind.

The street was quiet, any pedestrians presumably trying to avoid the brawl. Predictably, the Watch had yet to arrive.

"I'm sorry, Jezal, we're sorry, it's just that we don't have any work-"

"Then they started insulting us, like we actually could've done something about the Anvil Chapel attack-"

"Then everyone was really drunk, and someone threw a punch and everyone went-"

"Quiet!" the knight – _Jezal_ – snapped. "I don't care if it wasn't your fault, the fact is that gro-Khash had to send me to look for you!"

"Well, Blackwood's stolen all of our contracts. It's not like we have anything to do," the one called Rellian said.

"Except drink? You can do better than that."

"_You_ can say that. You get all the fancy assignments. All the glory. That ogre's daughter, was she good in bed?"

"How _dare_ you? I did it out of the goodness of my heart, I didn't need a reward!"

The four men kept arguing. The one in the armour seemed to be winning. It was insufferable, the way he could be courteous, confident and courageous all at the same time. Then Templar had a flash of insight.

"Wait," he interrupted. "Hey, I said wait!" The four men stopped talking and looked at him. "You're all from the Fighter's Guild, aren't you. And you" – he pointed at Jezal – "were in the newspaper this morning.

Vantus sighed. "Even _he_ knows about you. See what I mean?"

Jezal ignored him. "Yes. I was. Anyway, I've been terribly rude. Jezal dan Luthar, at your service." He held out a hand.

Templar shook it warily. His hand was almost crushed between the beautifully moulded armoured fingers. "Templar Estantesec."

"Now, good si-… Templar, did you see how the tussle started? Who the main offenders were?"

_It was more than a tussle. In fact, I might even say it was an… altercation. _"No. The first thing I knew of it was a fist to the face."

"Fat lot of good he is," Vantus muttered.

Jezal ignored him again. "Yes, I can see. You should probably get that looked at."

"Nah, I'll be fine." _Damn you, male bravado_.

"If that's the case, by any chance do you know of any work of a violent yet just nature that needs to be done at the moment? The Blackwood Company is stealing all of our contracts, you see, they're undercutting us with their prices. Unfortunately, my three friends here are… out of work, and can't think of anything better to do with their time than be idiots."

_It's like watching schoolboys get told off. I mean, how does he manage that? He's a goddamn knight in shining armour._

"I think there would be work down in Kvatch. The Fighter's Guild there would have been pretty decimated in the attack, right?" Templar said cautiously.

Jezal stared at him. "What an obvious idea."

"Hey, I wouldn't mind," the orc said. "We'd be useful, at least."

"Fine," Vantus sighed. "Alright."

"Anything else to say?" Jezal asked pointedly.

"Nope."

"Really."

"We'd be helping people and being good Fighter's Guild associates. Is that it?" Vantus answered sarcastically.

"Yes, actually," Jezal replied. "And Rellian?"

Rellian raised his hands in defeat. "I'm going along with it."

The knight leaned back. "That's settled then. Well done, everyone." _Why does that feel like praise from the Gods? _"Now, let's find out about what's caused this brawl of ours. Every job should be done well, after all."

They headed back to the open doorway, golden light spilling out into the street, muted conversations drifting on the wind. When the four Fighter's Guild members walked back in, they drew a few strange glances. _But nothing murderous. That's good._

Jezal noticed that Rellian's hand had crept to his sword-hilt. "Oh, stop that," he muttered. "Don't make things worse." He saw an empty table and climbed onto it. "Okay, everyone. Quiet!"

Everyone was quiet.

"Great! We're learning!" Templar winced. _Don't make things worse... _"I have been sent here" – Jezal took a breath – "by the Fighter's Guild to sort out the idleness of a few of my colleagues! I was _not_ sent here to sort out a… disturbance. You should all be ashamed of yourselves! Good citizens of the greatest city of the Empire, brawling like common thugs!"

_Most of these guys ARE common thugs, aren't they? This isn't exactly the most reputable bar in town, but I'm running low on funds._

"So I'd like to know… who started it, and what happened!"

No one stepped forwards.

"Maybe my friend here can help me out!" Jezal continued, ignoring the angry muttering. _He might be impressive, but that also seems to come with a healthy dose of naiveté. More critically known as ignorance._

"You! Templar! Come up here!"

_What? Me? You must be joking! But you don't joke, do you. _"Uh…" he managed to say out loud.

But then he didn't have to say anything else because someone threw a bottle at Jezal's head. It rebounded off his wonderful golden helmet with a loud clang and the knight fell to his knees. _Obviously not the best protection from flying bottles. But then again, who expects to be hit with a flying bottle? It's usually a sword, or a spiked mace for me. But of course, I don't put on armour as my casual wear._

Jezal was rocking back and forth, moaning softly. There was a shocked silence. Eerily, Templar could hear the grandfather clock behind the bar ticking softly.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock_

"Hey!" he whispered. "Jezal! You alright?..."

There was no response.

"Jezal! Come on! We'd better get out-"

He was nearly terminally interrupted by an axe that whirled through the crowd from his left and bounced off the opposite wall. It was followed by the sounds of splintering timber and breaking glass.

Then the sound of oaths, screams and overturned furniture mingled with the revelry of a drunken group by the fireplace who were singing about wenches. Conscience said: _it's not his fault. And who knows what's going to happen in the next two __minutes. He's worth saving._

"_AAAAARGH!_" "Winterfell!" _SMASH! Clatter clatter _"_Take one every night…_" _Bang tinkle tinkle_

Another part of his brain, the hated, despicable part which nevertheless resides in everyone, said: It's rude to butt in. I'll wait until everything's over, and then ask him if he wants any assistance. Besides, it isn't Blades policy to interfere in fights. It's a lot simpler to go in afterwards and arrest anyone recumbent. _Or that's what Cyrus said, anyway._

_But then again, Cyrus was joking. We're all good people, really._ Templar tried to keep that thought in his mind as grabbed Jezal – _damn, he's heavy – _by the shoulders and dragged him off the table, ducking fists and flying tankards to try and make his way towards the back door.

---

Sergeant Colon stumbled along up Short Street – the longest in the city, displaying the Imperial City Planning Department's subtle sense of humour in a nutshell – protesting loudly at this sudden exertion.

Corporal Nobbs was outside the Firefly Tavern, hopping from one foot to another. "He's fighting in there!" he stuttered, grabbing Colon's arm.

"What, all by himself?" the Sergeant asked breathlessly.

"No, with everyone!" shouted Nobby, hopping away.

"Oh. Who's fighting?"

"Everyone!"

"No, I mean-"

There was a crash as a nearby window burst outwards and deposited a stunned fighter on the other side of the street.

"I think," said the sergeant carefully, "that we'd better take prompt action."

"That's right," said Nobby. "A man could get hurt standing here."

They sidled cautiously a little way down the street, where the sound of splintering wood and breaking glass wasn't so overpowering, and carefully avoided one another's eyes. There was the occasional scream from within the tavern, and every now and again a mysterious ringing noise, as if someone as hitting a gong with their knee.

The stood in a little pool of embarrassed silence.

"You had your holidays this year, Corporal?" said Sergeant Colon eventually, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Yessir. Sent the wife to Summerset last month, sir, to see her aunt."

"Very nice at this time of year, I'm told."

"Yessir."

"All the geraniums and whatnot."

A figure tumbled out of an upper window and crumpled on the cobbles.

"That's where they're got the floral sundial, isn't it?" said the sergeant desperately.

"Yessir. Very nice, sir. All done with flowers, sir."

There was a sound like someone hitting someone else repeatedly with something heavy and wooden. Colon winced.

"I'm sure everyone's alright," said the sergeant, in a kindly voice.

The door of the Firefly had been torn off during riots so often that specially-tempered hinges had recently been installed, and the fact that the next tremendous crash tore the whole doorframe out of the wall only showed that quite a lot of money had been wasted. A figure in the midst of the wreckage tried to raise itself on its elbows, groaned, and slumped back.

Then there was silence.

"Well, it would seem that's all?" the sergeant began.

"Right you are, sir," Nobby said obediently.

"And now, forward!" Colon said, drawing his sword with a soft grunt.

"Yessir."

"That means you too, Corporal Nobbs."

They advanced with extreme caution, and peered cautiously around the ravished doorway.

There were a number of people sprawled across the tables, or what remained of the tables. Those who were still conscious looked unhappy about it.

In the background, someone was singing about wenches.

---

Templar stopped half-way down the alley and let Jezal fall to the ground. Someone sprinted past them, unidentifiable in the darkness.

He felt around for bruises and other, more exotic injuries. Apart from a tender shoulder and a bloody ear, he was pretty healthy, all things considered. _I'm sure I have a potion left in the bottom of my bag_.

"Uhhhhh…" the knight groaned. He turned over and retched, vomit splashing onto the dirty cobblestones. The sounds of fighting had stopped, for the moment.

"Who is that?" Jezal muttered, peering up at him.

"Templar."

"Oh."

A voice drifted out of the tavern doorway. "_This is Sergeant Colon of the City Watch! No one move! Or I'll - or I'll set Corporal Nobbs onto you!"_

Templar smiled faintly. He felt the magic flow out of him, and blue dust swirled around Jezal's head.

"Do you know" – Jezal coughed violently – "where the others are?"

"No. Probably on their way to Kvatch already."

"Ha… no."

There was silence. Almost. "_Argh! You kicked me in the berries, you-" "I mean it! Don't move!"_

"Well… thank you, sir."

_Finally_. "No problem. Nice armour.

"Thank you. It… feels so good to wear it."

"I'm sure it does."

"I'd" – another cough, this one a bit more wheezy – "better get back in there, I suppose."

"Not a chance," Templar said firmly. "The Watch will sort it out. I hope."

"_I'm sure the rest of the watch will be here very soon! So don't move- AAARGH!_"

"So. You're the gallant crusader from the Fighter's Guild, saving a damsel in distress."

"Yes. It wasn't really that special, though. Just a couple – a couple of trolls. Duty, and all that. If you ever need a favour, just… ask for me at the Guild." Jezal tried to prop himself up a bit more.

"Was the sex good afterwards?" Templar asked.

"What? How dare you say such a vile thing," Jezal retorted. But he was smiling painfully.

"Sure. Well, we'd better get you home." Templar looked around at the grime-covered walls that framed the black night sky above. "Now, where the hell are we?"

_Go to the main story (it's at the very end). Sergeant Colon, the Quirm flower festival and Short Street are kindly stolen from Terry Pratchett._

---

2

"Okay. Thanks." _What to do, what to do?_

_Brute force is probably not the best idea. I'm not good enough to steal it. Gwinas sounds really desperate to get his book, and probably won't give it to me. Because that would be too easy. _

_There must be something Phintias wants. There must be something in his life worth more than that stupid book. _"Is there anything at all… anything that I can do to make you change your mind?"

"Do you want it that much?" he asked, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.

"I'll do anything you ask." _Will I regret saying that? Probably. Ah, well, we regret many things in life._

Phintias looked at him for a long moment. "Come around the back. There may be something you can do for me."

---

They stood in a stuffy little room, books and papers and shelves leaving little space to move. Yellow light flowed in through the single dirty window.

"I have... a fiancé," Phintias said nervously.

"You? A _fiancé_? How old are you?"

"Thirty-one." Phintias jumped as a moth fluttered past his face.

"Boy, you must have a stressful job," Templar replied. This was, to be honest, not the best way to start things off.

"Thank you. Well, I do," the shopkeeper sighed. "And my fiancé is making it even more tiring. So do you want the book or not?"

"Yes."

"You sure? It could be a hard job."

"Of course I want the book." Templar almost inserted an expletive in the middle there, but decided against it.

"Okay. Well... it seems my fiancé has a-" Phintias frowned distastefully "-a... rat... problem."

"A problem," Templar answered. "With rats." _Unless I am gravely mistaken_.

_I accidentally wrote this section twice. So, you get two options, which are somewhat confusingly named 4 and 17. Pick one, or both, or none of them. Actually, no, do pick one. Then go back to Path 2._

---

4

"Yes. She wrote me a letter telling me to go and help her. She said something about rats, seemed rather desperate about it. I think there was a mountain lion in there too. Anyway, I'm too busy to go and help with rats. Or mountain lions, for that matter. But… I like her. Very much."

"Well, rats I can deal with," Templar said. He paused. "Unless they're giant ones, I don't like those. But mountain lions? That sounds a bit extreme."

"You can have the letter if you want, you won't get any more sense out of it. But, if you do this for me, I'll give you the book. No questions asked. I'll tell Gwinas to wait till tomorrow, if you can go tonight." Phintias folded his arms.

"Well, I suppose it's worth it," Templar sighed. "As long as it doesn't involve sewers. So, where does your girlfriend live."

"Skingrad," Phintias said. "39 Cobbler's Road."

"What? I have to go to _Skingrad_?"

"Yes." Templar suddenly noticed that Phintias looked kind of pathetic in his expensive clothes, in his stuffy little room, quivering slightly.

Then a muffled voice shouted something through the door. "-_llo? Hello! I want to buy this book! Anyone there?"_

Phintias rushed out, muttering an apology.

Templar sighed. "Okay! I'm doing it because I want that stupid book!"

No one answered.

_Skingrad? I really can't be bothered._

_Oh well. I couldn't really be bothered going to Kvatch, not to mention closing the Oblivion Gate and clearing out the city. I couldn't really be bothered escaping from the prisons, even with the chance the Emperor gave me._

_But I went, and look where I am now?_

_Still can't be bothered, that's where._

---

17

Phintias sighed. "Indeed, it is a rat problem. A rat problem that is very great indeed."

There was a pause, as both men contemplated what this furry-nosed conundrum could be.

"Well?" Templar asked.

"Well what?"

"Further explanation of this rat problem, this... rodent predicament would be appreciated."

"Ah, but I am afraid that is not possible," Phintias replied. "This fiancé of mine, she does not explain. She merely writes to me in letters that there is a rat problem, no why, no what, now where. Just a problem... concerning rats. She seems desperate. Perhaps, though I hesitate to use the word, hysterical."

"Ah, women," Templar said, grinning sadly.

"Women," Phintias agreed, shaking his head. He paused.

"Well?" Templar asked.

"Well what?"

"Where does your woman live? I feel an urge, a pulling in my belly to aid you in your quandary. This book is vital to our cause, you see. More vital than you know."

"I shall not ask questions, then. She lives in Skingrad, that fair city by the Elswyr border."

"No?! But I am weary, and footsore. Skingrad is such a long way to go, even for a task as worthy as this. I have experienced a rat problem myself, and it... was not pleasant."

"I can attest to that, my friend. But to Skingrad you must go, if this book you desire."

Templar groaned. "Desire it I do, desire it most strongly. Shall I send your fiancé your love? A love so beautiful it cannot be denied?"

"Please do, please do. And if you do manage to remove her tailed-and-whiskered dilemma, you have my thanks. And you may have the book that Gwinas craves. Unfortunately, my fiancé is more important than his enjoyment. She currently resides at Thirty-Nine Cobbler's Road – in a rather grand residence, I might add. You cannot miss it."

"Thank you, shopkeeper. I shall set off with haste. And it should not be too hard, unless it is a problem of giant rats. I cannot stand that variety."

_Oh dear, my author must be feeling medieval today._

_But Skingrad? I really can't be bothered._

_Oh well. I couldn't really be bothered going to Kvatch, not to mention closing the Oblivion Gate and clearing out the city. I couldn't really be bothered escaping from the prisons, even with the chance the Emperor gave me._

_But I went, and look where I am now?_

_Still can't be bothered, that's where._

---

2 Continued

The road was long, uneven, winding, dusty and far too crowded. But that didn't matter, because he was sitting on the back of the express carriage to Skingrad.

It was expensive, but he _really_ wanted to be back by the evening.

The long, uneven, winding, dusty and far too crowded road passed by in a wonderful blur. Wind ruffled his air, and his stomach lurched as they went over some particularly large bumps. There were three other people in the carriage, but they all knew each other and talked too much, so Templar had taken to sitting outside with the bags, watching the trees pass by. It was almost autumn now, and the leaves were beginning to transform into fiery red and gold. As they passed a bend in the road, he saw the tall white tower of an Ayleid ruin spearing through the trees in the distance, and they slowed to a trot to give the two horses a rest.

There wasn't much to see. besides more trees and the occasional rock, but by the gods it was a nice change from walking.

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep… but I have promises to keep._

And the wind ruffled his new waterproof cloak in a rather kingly way. Sitting with the bags had its advantages - one of the passengers would be _very_ wet when it next came pouring down…

---

Skingrad was its usual busy self, people thronging the narrow city streets, gardens filled with wilting flowers, a thin pall of smoke rising above the eastern quarter. Cobblers Road ran the length of a small rise, and Number 39 – _oh dear, I don't even know his girlfriend's name _– was a big granite construction with a red-tiled roof, supported by thick columns. Some steps led up to the imposing wooden door, underneath the wide portico. A few fiery yellow sunflowers erupted from a box up on the second storey.

_Phintias seems to have done rather well for himself. He's rich, got a girlfriend who's also rich, a nice job – well, crap job, actually – and he's nice and safe in the hart of the Empire. And just compare that list to me for a second…_

Templar knocked on the door. He waited a few seconds, then knocked louder. "Hello? I'm here to deal with your rat problem! Phintias sent me!"

No one answered. Templar opened the door quietly. "I'm coming in, okay?"

In front of him was a stairway leading upwards, while to his left down a hallway he could see a large circular room, firelight flickering from a great hearth.

"SQUEAK! Squeak squeak squeak-" Something small and furry scrambled over Templar's boot and out the door.

"Ahh!" _How the hell did I end up here? I had no aspirations to be a ratcatcher this morning. But here I am. Catching rats. The things the world does to you. _"Anybody home?"

_No_. Templar began walking up the stairs. At the top there was a door to his left. He opened it cautiously and found himself in a small room, its walls covered in tapestries. There was a fireplace in one wall, embers burning with a soft red light. "Hello?"

"Oh! Hello. Wait a second, I'll be right there."

A tall dark elf emerged from the next room, her green skin and red eyes giving her a _rather threatening look. "Knock knock." "Who's there? I'm kind of busy at the moment." "Phintias' girlfriend." "Phintias' girlfriend who?" "Oh, don't worry, I'll just kill some kittens while I wait." "What?" "And then I'll kill you! HAHAHAHAHA!" _Here white hair was done up in a tight bun, contrasting with her dark red – _blood-red_ – dress.

And then all of Templar's stereotypes fell flat. "Oh, my poor little rats!" she said sadly.

_Uh, what?_

"My rats, my rats, my babies…"

"Uh, yes. Sorry for barging in like this, but Phintias sent me to take care of your rat problem." _Am I hearing this right?_

"You can't imagine the fuss people make. My rats are no problem for anyone."

_Have I gone crazy?_ "Your – your rats?"

"That's right. Rats. In my basement. And something has been killing them! It's horrible. My poor babies! You must do something!"

_Have I died? Am I in hell?_

"Okaayyy," Templar said slowly. "So you have rats in your basement. And you don't want me to kill them-"

"Please don't! They never hurt anyone!" the woman said desperately.

_Perhaps I have been possessed by a ghost, and I am now experiencing his warped memories. No, no, that's too ordinary. _"Okay okay. But – and here's the weird thing – something's been killing them-"

"Yes, I don't know what, I don't know, but every morning I find their little corpses upon the stairs and it just breaks my heart!"

"And you want me, _me_, to find out what's killing them and… kill it, I suppose."

"Yes, yes! Oh, I can't believe Phintias has done this for me! I don't know what I'd do without them, their little pink noses, their scaly little tails. Pleas, find out what's happening!"

_Maybe Phintias hasn't done so well after all. His fiancé is crazy. Maybe Phintias is so horrible she's been forced to turn to her rats for company. _

_No, that's too mean._

"_Did you even _listen_ to our talk, Phintias?"_

"_What talk?" Phintias sighed._

"_See?! That's exactly what I mean. That's why… I'm leaving you!"_

"_What? You can't!"_

"_I have tried so hard, Phintias, but… you're never there for me. That's why I've had to turn to my rats. They're there for me. They're cuddly. They listen to me. They're all the things you never were, Phintias!"_

_Yes, that's too mean. I'm sure Phintias is a nice man._

Templar found himself backing away from the dark elf's feverish-looking eyes. "Well, I'll just go down to the basement now and… look around. Okay? I'll… protect your rats." _Oh good lord, through the looking glass we go. Maybe I can kill them all while I'm down there and say something else did it._

_I'm doing this for you, Volume Three. I hope…_

"Please save my little rats! The basement is" – she let out a little sob – "next to the fireplace."

Templar tried to look casual as he edged towards the doorway. Then he gave up and ran down the stairs. _Oh gods, there's the door I'm going to run into it I'm going to run into it- _He swung into the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, half-falling as his legs flailed about under him, and skidded to a stop in the room with the fireplace he'd seen when he first entered the… rat-lover's house. Chairs were arranged in a semicircle around the flames. The white walls were somewhat cracked, paint peeling in the heat. There was a small doorway near a bench in the corner. Templar pushed it open and found a stairway before him, descending into the gloom. A lone candle, sputtering feebly on the landing below between stacks of barrels and crates, throwing jagged shadows into the darkness. Pitted stone walls, wooden support beams. The stairs turned back on themselves, descending ever deeper.

He pulled a fresh torch from his back and lit it, watching the smoke spiral towards to roof. An ember landed on his hand, and he brushed it off quickly. Templar began walking down cautiously, the little island of flickering light held up high.

_There was a bit more of that repulsive rotten garlic smell. But the darkness was nice._

_-flash-_

_ducking, weaving_

_-flash-_

_it was a small, dark room. A bed in the corner. A small square of moonlight falling through the single window. There was a man, sleeping._

_-flash-_

_a road at night. Shadows flitting through the trees. There was another shadow, this one much more…_

_-flash-_

_they were there. They were there. Just so close – but the sky in the north had an unhealthy orange glow…_

_-flash-_

_He rose, faster than he though has possible, blending somehow. A man can change…_

_-flash-_

"_Oh my god, how the F—CK did this happen!"_

_-flash-_

"Ah! Dizzy, I'm dizzy-"

"SQUEAK! Sniffle sniffle sniffle." _Skitter skitter_ _skitter_-

_Darkness always sets them off. And I'm in a basement, isn't that a symbol of the subconscious or something. But I can never get a clear glimpse… _He leant against the wall, panting quietly.

It was a large basement, as basements go, about ten by ten metres. The sagging plaster ceiling was criss-crossed with wooden beams. Shelves and chests and barrels lined the rough stone walls, and there were a few smaller rooms leading off from either side.

_Squeal. Squeak. Scrabble scrabble scrabble._

And in the basement, there were rats. Big ones, too. Not giant, merely large. As Templar watched, one reared up on its hind legs, tail held out for balance, and rubbed one of its ears with a small paw. It would have looked rather cute, if it wasn't a rat. The whole sight was… sickening. _And the woman upstairs thinks these are her PETS?_

_Sniffle sniffle. Scrape. Scrape scrape._

The floor was covered in a thin sheen of rat droppings, and Templar could see a few half-eaten apples scattered around. In the far corner there was even a basket of expensive-looking cheeses laid out, next to a long water trough. As he watched, another four of the things emerged from some crack in the wall and trotted over to the cheese stash. However, Templar could also see a few broken little rat corpses around the place, too. Something was definitely killing them. _And I give you my wholehearted support._

_Chitter. Sqeak. Squeal. Chitter. Squeak. Squeal. _

Templar stepped of the bottom stair, gingerly avoiding any piles of rotting food and refuse that were _too_ obvious. There was another little storeroom behind the shelf to his left. There probably wasn't much in it, but he decided to have a look anyway.

Suddenly, an especially big rat came scurrying around the corner and shot through his legs, it's back almost up to his knees.

_Skitter skitter skitter_

Templar muttered a curse. How many of the bastards was there now? Fifteen? Twenty? There was a whole wriggling mass of them in the middle of the floor, fighting over some food, or possibly mating. It was hard to tell. Legions of them were zig-zagging across the room in all directions.

_SQUEEEAAK squeak squEEAAK!_

He'd obviously stepped on one's tail, or something. It was annoyed, anyway. Then it bit him on the back of his leg.

_Scrabble scrabble scrabble scrabble skitter_

"I hate this stupid job!"

_Well, there isn't much in the storeroom. Just a candlestick and a few boxes. I mean, honestly, why did I have to go and check it again? I could have avoided being bitten. Blood is trickling down my leg, I probably now have rabies, and there's icky brown stuff on my boots. It is, all in all, a bad day._

_I think that I have hit rock bottom._

_Definitely rock bottom. Doesn't get any lower than this, rummaging around in a crap-filled bad-smelling madwoman's basement trying to save a bunch of rats. Well, maybe rummaging around naked in a sewer looking for used syringes with your bare hands COULD be worse, but I can't see that happening to me at the moment. Unlike the previously mentioned rat situation._

"ROOOAARRR!"

"SQUEEAK! SQUEAK!" _skitter skitter skitter scrabble scrape skitter_

"ROAR!" _Snarrrrrllll…_

"Perhaps it does get worse."

_Swipe SQUEAK! Crunch crunch SQUEAK! Skitter skitter skitter ROARrrrrr!_

"There is a mountain lion in my basement."

_Bam! ROARRR! Smack._

"A mountain lion… in my basement."

_SQUEEAAAL! Crunch crunch scrabble scrabble_

"I'm running out of onomatopoeia which can be used to describe the movements of rats and lions."

_Chomp munch chew. Thump thump thump._

"It is eating rats." _Good for you._

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. ROAR! SQUEAL! Smack. Swipe scrape scrape_

_Well, I suppose I have to kill it, then. This is for you, mad elf lady. I hope you appreciate it._

Templar moved his leg experimentally. He drew his sword, which he had luckily decided to take with him. He was going to advance upon the mountain lion, but-

_How do you advance upon a hungry mountain lion? I'm sure there's some way to do it. Some way to stay away from its awfully sharp claws. And teeth. My god, that rat just hit the ceiling._

He stepped forwards again. The whirling furball of death was only around five paces away now. There was a small lull in the fighting, and the lion was chewing on a corpse contentedly while the rodent population fled.

He took another step.

"Growwllll…."

The mountain lion stared at him with bloodshot eyes.

He took another step, which was… unwise.

A paw lashed out, blindingly fast, claws extended. It slammed into Templar's chest, knocking him onto his back, three bloody gouges seared into his torso. He scrambled away frantically, feeling around for his sword.

"Ow! Owowowowow! You hit me!" _Duh._ Templar could feel the blood soaking his shirt. _Which is never a good feeling. I hope I can still remember that healing spell._

"Growwllll…"

"Okay, okay. Eat your rat. I'll just… wait here until I can think of a good way to dispose of you. Is that alright?"

The lion growled in acknowledgement.

"I mean, aren't you an endangered species? I don't want to kill you. Maybe we can sort this out. Killing you… just doesn't feel right." Templar picked up the candlestick behind him, and hefted it nervously. "Forgive me, mountain lion."

So he leapt into the air and slammed it into the back of the lion's head.

---

_Damn, this thing is heavy. At least it's only a baby, so it's small and it's got no mane. Kind of cute, when it's unconscious. _

Templar tramped up the stairs to Phintias' fiancé's bedroom, ignoring the mess his boots were making. He held the lion by the scruff of its neck, dragging it up behind him.

"Hey! I think I've solved your problem!"

The dark elf emerged onto the upstairs landing. Templar held the lion up in front of him for dramatic effect, its head lolling around uselessly. Damn, but his arm was beginning to hurt.

"This is it."

The woman let out a little gasp, and covered her eyes. "Oh my goodness! This… horrible thing was killing my babies?" She fell forwards, leaning on the wall for support, puffing for breath.

"You know that little corridor in your basement? Well, there's a pretty large hole in the wall there you might want to get filled in. It's a tunnel leading up to surface, so that's how the lion got in."

"What if there are more? What if it wasn't alone?"

"Just fill in that hole and everything should be fine." _I should be a social worker. I'm just _so_ good at comforting people._

The woman's eyes became a little less crazy. "Thank the gods you killed that thing. This is ridiculous-" _I agree! _"-and someone's out to get me, to get my poor babies! I'll bet it's that Quill-Weave next door."

"Quill-Weave?" _Will I regret asking that question?_

"She's the one," the dark elf sneered. "She's never liked me or my sweet little pets-" _Oh, so she's normal, then. _"-and I know it's her. I've seen her sneaking around the back of my house at night. She thinks she's so smart. She and all the other women. I'll show her! I want you to keep an eye on her. Find out what she's up to."

"Well, I really have to get back…" _Well, I really need that book… _"But I'll do it."

---

It was night-time, and it was cold. The stars were out, a great swathe of light across the sky. Trees swayed in the gentle breeze, wind whistling past the murky silhouettes of houses, their windows still light.

_A face floated before Templar's eyes, flashing in and out of existence like a hummingbird's wings. A woman's face. Desolate. Furious._

_Red laughter echoed across the world, its tendrils creeping into every tiny crack. That was… unsettling. The red one wasn't usually happy…_

It was past dinner time, so Templar was his usual self. Tired, and annoyed. He was in the courtyard behind Phintias' girlfriend's house – _still don't know her name_ – crouching between two dewy bushes, waiting for something suspicious to happen. _I mean, come on. If you sit around in a courtyard all night something suspicious is _bound_ to happen. It's the laws of coincidence, or something._ He stretched out a leg, and someone tripped over it, falling to the ground in a mighty clatter of armour.

_BAM! Clatter clatter clatter. _The sound echoed around the courtyard. Someone swore loudly, obviously annoyed at having their sleep disturbed.

"Ow!" Templar whispered hoarsely. "My leg! It feels like it's come off!"

"Sorry, sorry! Didn't mean to!" The other voice was a man's, quite high, coming from the ground somewhere in front of him. There was another clatter as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Who are you?" Templar asked.

"Jezal! Jezal dan Luthar!"

_Sounds… pompous. _"Well, I suppose the question begging to be asked is what you're doing here."

Templar felt around for a torch. He though he'd put one in his all-new waterproof cloak pocket, with a flint as well. _Yes, here it is_. He got a small flame going, which was a nice bit of luck.

In front of Templar – _between me and the door, unfortunately_ – was a tall man in _really_ cool armour. Well, it was majestic too. And shining, and wonderful, and probably good at providing protection, which is always good in a suit of armour. The greaves and armguards were all tight-fitting and elegantly curved, made of bright silvery metal and lined with gold filigree, a ridge running down the centre. The upper leg was protected by leather flaps and fine chainmail, held together by a scarlet belt with a silver buckle. The breastplate was exquisitely moulded, showing off the wearer's finely-sculpted form and covered in the same gold designs, topped off with thick shoulderpads and an arched neckguard. The helmet was open at the front, sheets of polished steel protecting each cheek, with a red horsehair crest jutting from the top.

"Nice armour, though."

"Thanks." Jezal grinned winningly. He had perfect teeth. "Anyway, I'm here to watch for a woman by the name of Quill-Weave. Do you know her?"

"No, but I'm waiting for Quill-Weave too."

"Oh. Really? Why?"

_You have got to be kidding. Of all the things that could happen… _"That crazy woman living in the house behind me thinks Quill-Weave is luring mountain lions into her cellar to kill rats, which is a very noble pursuit in my mind."

"Well, the-" he gave Templar a glance "-rather beautiful dark elf sent me to do exactly the same thing."

"You're kidding."

"No, I assure you I'm not."

"The woman who loves rats? The woman who calls them 'my babies'?"

"Yes."

"What's her name, anyway."

"Uh…" the man paused. "Ar… Arve… Arvena something. Arvena Thallas? Something like that."

There was an awkward silence.

"Well," Templar continued, "I killed a mountain lion in her basement."

The man laughed. "It smells _foul_ down there, doesn't it?"

"Sure does. So, why are you here?"

"The Fighter's Guild sent me. It's a bit of a step down from my previous contract, but you have to take the good with the bad, I guess. It's still helping people."

Then Templar had a flash of insight. "Wait… You're the guy I read about in the newspaper, the one who saved the orc's daughter. Lord Rugdumph."

"Yes," Jezal replied, surprised. "How did you know?"

"Well, I don't know, you fit the image. Gallant knight in shining armour…" _Sigh._ "Anyway, Arve… Arve…"

"Arvena," he supplied helpfully.

"Arvena neglected to mention you at all."

"Likewise. I mean, I just had to go and clear out an entire hill _covered_ in mountain lions. One of the local hunters helped me, but… boy, is that woman paranoid. It felt rotten to slaughter the poor beasts. They were so thin."

"I must say I haven't had to do _quite_ as much as you." _Thank Akatosh. _"But… how about we wait for Quill-Weave together, then?"

"Sure," Jezal said enthusiastically. "Some company would be nice."

"Anyhow," Templar said, "we'd better find you a chair. Wouldn't want to get that armour of yours any dirtier. Why are you wearing it, anyway? Quill-Weave doesn't sound _that_ dangerous. Bitchy, but not dangerous."

The knight winced at the swearword, and looked at him strangely. "It feels good. Don't you find that?"

"Well, yes. But it's damn heavy."

"But it's such a nice feeling…" he answered wistfully.

"Right. Well, I'll go and find that chair."

---

"A-ha!"

"Got you!"

Templar and Jezal jumped out of the shadows. The dark figure they'd been watching screamed shrilly.

"Hey, hey! Be quiet! We're not going to hurt you!"

The woman sobbed. "That's what they said last time, that's what they said last time, but-"

Jezal stepped back, and sighed disapprovingly. "This was _your_ plan. I said we should have been more subtle."

Templar ignored him. Gallant knights could be awfully uptight. "Are you Quill-Weave?" he said softly.

"Yes," the Argonian bawled. "I haven't done anything. Take what you want and go."

"We're not here to take anything. It's just that Arvena Thelas wants to know why mountain lions have been killing her rats." _See? Should be a social worker. Maybe even a psychologist. As long as it doesn't involve lunatics with crossbows._

The Argonian seemed to calm down a little. "Mountain lions?" she said, choking a little. "I don't know anything about any mountain lions."

"We saw you outside Ms. Thelas' house, my lady," Jezal interjected. "Most likely up to no good."

"You what? Well, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Giving a self-respecting woman a scare like that. I would never go skulking about…"

"More to the point," Templar said, "we saw you putting meat outside the hole to her basement."

Quill-Weave relented. "Fine. You got me. I figured if I left some rotten meat outside, the nasty little things would come out, and the guards would take care of them."

"What about the mountain lions, then? We've killed one – wait, how many did kill? – well, five of them that were lurking around in her basement."

"Mountain lions! In her basement?" Quill-Weave said, shocked. "I just wanted to lure her vermin outside! I didn't mean to hurt anyone, except the rats. Please, don't tell her!"

Templar sighed. "And here I was about to congratulate you."

Jezal gave him another disapproving glance, the fifth of which he'd received that evening.

"If you keep this our little secret," she continued, "I can make it worth your while. Give it some thought." She slipped past them and began walking away.

"Well, it's obvious" Jezal said. "We have to tell Arvena that her neighbour was trying to lure her rats out, and through an honest, unforseen mistake she lured some mountain lions _in_."

"Wait a second, here. Quill-Weave said it would be worth our while to keep her secret. And what harm will it do? Everyone will be happy. Arvena won't get angry at her neighbour, Quill-Weave won't try anything again." They began walking towards the front of the dark-elf's house, Jezal clinking along merrily. He was torn between duty and compromise, face twisted with indecision. "But I am a member of the Fighter's Guild, we are sworn to-"

"It makes sense to do it my way! We get paid-"

"Arvena was going to pay me!"

"What?! Well, she wasn't going to pay _me_. I just get a lousy book."

"I still say we tell Ms. Thelas what happened."

_By the gods, gallantry can be bloody annoying. _"Look. Just tell Arvena that Quill-Weave had nothing to do with it. You'll get paid, everyone will assume you did the right thing, Quill-Weave and Arvena will _both_ be better off. Okay?"

They reached the front door. Templar knocked on it loudly.

Jezal thought for a moment. "Fine. Whatever. I just hope your torrid influence doesn't corrupt me. It's just not _right_-"

"Oh, stop complaining."

Someone in black silk pyjamas opened the door, red eyes glowing furiously. "_What!"_

Templar took a step back to avoid being blasted. "We checked, and Quill-Weave had nothing to do with it. Mountain lions must just like rats."

"She didn't, huh? Hmph." She sounded more than slightly suspicious. "But, you've taken care of the problem, and I suppose that's what counts." The eyes lost some of their ferocity. "Here's your payment. Now get out, and let me sleep."

The door slammed shut. Templar found himself holding a small bag of coins, which he handed to Jezal. "They should pay you more."

"Knowing that I've helped someone is enough."

Templar groaned. "You need to lighten up more."

"_You_ need to get a bit of decency into you," he retorted. There was silence for a while.

"Well, I suppose this is where we part ways," Templar said.

"Yes. Well, just ask for me at the Fighter's Guild if you… need any help."

"I'll probably be at Cloud Ruler Temple."

"You're a Blade? Well, I didn't know. Sorry if I've been rude or anything-"

Templar laughed. "You don't need to apologise. I might, though. Anyway, go off and, I dunno, save some damsels or something."

"I will." He began walking off. "You should try it! Afterwards, the sex is-"

Templar was jerked back to attention. _Did I hear that right?_ But the rest of the knight's words were blown away by the wind.

---

Phintias didn't look any different from yesterday. Same clothes, same place, same harassed expression, another customer wanting a hard-to-find book, the only copy of which was probably halfway across the Empire. However, he couldn't avoid a flicker of hope passing over his face as Templar walked in.

"Excuse me. One moment, we might have it in stock." The shopkeeper beckoned Templar to follow him into the back room.

"Did you do it?" he whispered once they were inside.

"One rat problem. Solved. I've even got a note from her to prove it."

"Oh, thank the gods. Well, you're just in time. Gwinas is due in about half an hour. And he'll probably be early." Phintias gave him a slim volume with a red and black cover. _Well, I'm building up quite the collection_. "There's a note inside too, something about a meeting."

"No problem. Anyway, I really needed this. So thanks."

But Phintias had already walked back out.

Templar followed slowly, putting the book in his backpack. He heard the sounds of an argument behind him."Volume Three of the Mythic Dawn Commentaries? Are you sure? I have it quite clearly here as 'Volume 2.'" Phintias managed to sound innocent.

"Of course I asked for Volume Three! You can get Volume Two anywhere!" Gwinas managed to sound outraged.

"Not anywhere, I assure you sir. Well, there's obviously been a mistake. Perhaps you'd like to come back in a week? We might have a copy by then."

_Go to the main story (it's at the very bottom)._

---

3

"Okay. Thanks." _Well, this is a puzzle. What to do? Jauffre wouldn't approve of physical threats, I'm sure. Or would he? I can't make Phintias give it to me, and Gwinas probably won't give it to me either. How do you obtain something that no one wants you to have?_

_Steal it, of course! It may be highly immoral for a member of the Emperor's personal guard, but by Akatosh, it'll be fun!_

"Don't worry about it. I might have a look around the other bookshops."

"They won't have it," Phintias said quickly. "Guaranteed."

"I know. Well, I might be back later." _At midnight, maybe. Hahahahahaaaa! _He walked out of the shop, and realised that if he tried to steal the book Phintias would have already sold it around twelve hours earlier. _There goes that plan. Sigh._

_But… If I can find out where Gwinas is staying…_

_Well, what's the best course of action? I could look around the different hotels, find out if he's staying there. But I wonder how many hotels are there in this city? A better plan would be to wait and follow him. I might be stuck following him all day, but at least it'll give me a better chance of finding him. How hard can it be?_

_Well, we're about to find out._

A short male Bosmer strode past him and up to the desk, red silk robe swishing imperiously. His receding auburn hair was pulled back, framing small brown eyes and exposing his pointed ears.

"Excuse me. Excuse me! I'm Gwinas. I'm here to pick up the Mythic Dawn Commentaries, the third volume."

"Right on time," Phintias replied. "Would I be able to see some identification, please? I wouldn't ask, normally, but it's a very rare book."

Gwinas began feeling around in his pockets, muttering in his strangely high voice. _Come on. Hand the book over. Hand it over._

_Oh, hurry up! It's not like it's elven erotic art or something. You don't have to be all secretive about it. Finally!_

"Thank you. I hope you enjoy it."

"I'm sure I will." Gwinas swept past him again, book in hand_._ Templar followed, trying to get naked elves out of his head.

---

Templar pushed his way through the crowd, trying to keep that flash of red within twenty metres of him. The whole following thing had been fun for the first twenty minutes, but then excruciatingly annoying for the next two hours. Everyone else in the city was taller than the elf, for starters.

Gwinas had decided to get some lunch – _finally_ – and had decided to enter what had to be the most crowded food court in the Market District, on the hottest day of, well, the past week at least. _It's always cold underground_. _But who cared about the weather, anyway? All you need is some stale bread and a scrap of blanket to keep you warm as you reminisce about the good old days. Remember three hours ago when that rat got stuck under the bucket / toilet? That was hilarious. I wonder what joys the next hour will bring!_

_Shit. Where is he?_

A strangely high voice, over to his left. Templar turned and saw Gwinas talking to a stall owner. He sidled up and unobtrusively took his place in the line behind the elf, surveying the menu.

_Damn, no rats. I was looking forward to a bit of good rodent. Just the thing to get the blood going. You could even get the skin and add it to your blanket. Oh, stop being fatalistic. It's only hot, and uncomfortable. And you're following a generally irritating shortarse. Deal with it!_

He kept one eye on Gwinas as the elf sat down at one of the tables in the centre of the square. A minute or so later he received his exotic-looking meal and began picking his way through the packed benches, taking care not to look at his… prey too much. He eventually found a vacant seat and began pushing the previous occupant's rubbish to the side.

"What have we got here," he said to himself, looking at his plate. "Bamboo, long curly things, some sort of reddish meat-" He lifted some up into the air with his spoon and examined it critically. "It's probably going to be hellishly spicy, but hey – life's an adventure." He tried to be optimistic as he said it, but failed miserably.

He looked up again. The elf in the red robe was still sitting there, eating something that looked a lot nicer than his. But there was something weird about it. The elf was… _tall_. _Dammit! F—k! Where is he?_

Templar stood up and looked around the sea of people.

_Lost him._

People walked past left and right. The orc sitting opposite got up, pushing his chair in with a scrape. The cheap umbrella above the table shuddered slightly, as a wonderfully cool breeze swept through the plaza.

_Lost him…_

---

"Welcome to the Tiber Septim Hotel, sir. How may I help?"

"Is anyone by the name of Gwinas staying here?"

The girl reached for a ledger on the desk. "One moment." White sunlight slanted through the crystal windows as the pages flicked briskly. "Yes, we do have a Gwinas Aphrael checked in for tonight. Have you got a delivery for him?"

"No, I was just wondering if I'd be able to see him," Templar asked. _This could possibly we the first time one of my 'intelligent' guesses has paid off._

"I'm afraid that's not possible. We can only arrange meetings after consulting with the guest beforehand. New security measures as a result of… the incident." Even with her hair pulled back severely, she was still quite pretty. In an efficient sort of way.

"Okay, sure. I might come tomorrow, when he's in. Thanks." He stepped back, and made for the richly-engraved door.

"Have a good day."

---

_The night is for hunting…_

A patchwork of grey clouds covered the moon, throwing the streets into inky darkness, the dragon's statue a threatening shape rearing up at the sky. Crickets chirped, and insects whirred around glowing windows. Talos Plaza was deserted at this hour, apart from the low murmurs of late-night meetings and the occasional echoing footsteps of legion patrols. Templar crouched behind a low fence, his hands gripping the dewy iron rails. The Tiber Septim Hotel was a looming mass before him, two guards blocking the front door. The painted sign above them swung back and forth gently.

_Squeak squeak. Squeak squeak._

_This could be hard. They probably won't let anyone around the back of the building either. But if I can follow the fence, they just might not notice me. Don't want any awkward questions._

His elegant reasoning done, Templar began to awkwardly crouch-walk to the left. The pool of light from the guards' lanterns wouldn't _quite_ reach him. Hopefully. The only things he'd taken with him were his bow, a few lockpicks and a magicka potion. It would be easier to sneak in without all his gear, and he was intending to run, not fight. Fighting would be stupid. The end of the bow caught on his tunic, and he had to stop and ease it out of the fabric.

_It should be all I need. Hopefully._

The fence ended, so Templar began to move around the side of the hotel, in the shadows of the adjoining buildings. The street led to the west, and there was a back alley leading from it that he could use to get around the rear of the building.

_Squeak squeak. Squeak squeak._

"Stop that damn sign, will you?"

_OH GODS, OH GODS, OH-_

"Yeah, yeah. Do it yourself, next time." The guard on the left reached up and held the board in place for a moment. It stopped swinging, and all was silent.

_That's it. Thaaat's it. Slow down, heart. Slower beats. Why did I think this was a good idea? _He'd made an elaborate plan back in his room, which streets to take, what to bring, an escape route. But plans rarely stood up to real world testing.

He was around the corner from the guards now, which was good, and lessened the chance of any further heart attacks. He stood up and quietly padded as best he could past the blackened buildings. _It would have been so much easier to go and talk to that idiot elf. But no, Templar Estantesec has to pretend he's some sort of master thief and break into the most exclusive hotel in the city, where the guards have apparently been licensed to kill. _He tried to act natural as he walked past a wide window, partially obscured by the bushes growing from a window box. Blurry shadows moved behind the thick glass.

_Witnesses at a dinner party reported that they saw a suspicious figure walk past just after midnight. He had dark hair, brown eyes, and was one-hundred and eighty-three centimetres tall. From the way he walked, the watch can reliably deduce his name is Templar Estantesec. If spotted, please kill on sight. _The moon came out, bathing the street in pale light. The octagonal tower of a nearby mansion was a dark blade against the sky.

There was the alley. He slipped into it, glancing around cautiously. There was a spindly tree growing out of the pavement, and a few twigs were scattered on the ground, as if someone had pushed their way past. Templar didn't notice this, and stepped on one. The wood cracked loudly. "_Damn!_" he whispered violently.

Suddenly, a guard materialised at the end of the alley, where it bent round past the rear of the hotel. Templar stopped.

The guard looked at him briefly, and then turned back the way he came.

_My god, I am being an idiot, aren't I._ He strode down the alleyway to where the guard had been, and quickly peered around the corner. The guard was down the other end, doing something random. _Tying a boot, or something._ The back of the Tiber Septim was dark, except for a few flickering lanterns along the walls and some second-story windows on the corner of the building. A tree rose into the sky at the next corner of the alleyway, by a door to the hotel courtyard, which was bordered by another low iron fence.

There was a small alcove about half-way down to his right. A crude wooden roof was erected above it, protecting a small stack of barrels. Templar ran towards it and crouched between two posts, pressing up against the wall. The guard was coming back now, from the sound of it.

The moon disappeared again, throwing the world into darkness. Templar stood up, stretching his legs. An armoured figure tramped past.

Then it stopped, abruptly. _Too soon._ Templar shot to the ground, the bow pressing into the small of his back.

The footsteps returned, and stopped again. _Tap, tap_. _Tap_. The guard was poking around the barrels with his – _her_ – sword-tip. "Hmph." She grunted and withdrew, continuing her patrol.

_Perhaps a mix of boldness and stealth would be appropriate. _Templar briefly thought about knocking the guard out to make his life a bit easier, but that would've been 'violence against women: Cyrodiil says no' and his moral righteousness – _hah!_ - won out. _But had it one out before?... Besides, they might swap patrols or something, and that would be awkward._

_I seem to be in a rather black mood._

He walked out into the alleyway and snuck towards the safety of the fence as quickly as he dared. He reached the door, and tried the handle. _Dammit. Locked. _The guard was still waiting at the other end of the alley.

"…where could they be with that supper of mine? They're never on time… never… not once since I've been here…"

A little further on from the cellar door was another window, its filigree throwing jagged shadows onto the cobbles. Another guard had his back to it, from the look of his silhouette.

_There wasn't really a chance to begin with. Maybe I'll have to try the rooves, ignoring the fact that climbing a building is probably quite hard, and involves a fair bit of… heights._

_There._ A small grate was mounted in the wall by the window, covering an opening into what appeared to be the hotel cellar.

The guard was coming back. Templar looked over at the hatch. _Too far_. Devoid of any other options, he lay on the ground, wet leaves pressing up against his face. With a bit of luck, his newly-bought waterproof cloak would be dark enough to blend in with the dirt. _Surely she'll notice there's a man-sized lump feebly trying to hide at her feet. _The footsteps stopped. He could hear her breathing, soft and warm, imagining the white clouds of condensation disappearing into the night air. Imagining the sudden shock of realisation. He had to stop himself shivering as moisture soaked into his tunic.

She turned, and started back up the alleyway. Templar waited until he was sure she was gone, then got to his hands and knees. He crawled under the window, boots scraping softly, and reached the opening. He grasped the metal bars and pushed, praying they wouldn't creak. Instead, it wouldn't budge. _It's not locked. No one's that thorough. _He pushed again, and noticed that the hatch was being held closed by a wedge of stone on the other side. He reached through the bars and worked it free. This time, the bars swung inwards without a sound.

Templar shimmied through, not caring about noise anymore. The moon came out, just in time to reveal a pair of squirming legs.

He kept wriggling, down a wooden ramp, kicking the gate closed with a foot. A few barrels were piled up against the wall at the bottom, beneath a wall-mounted torch. Thick wooden crossbeams supported the low roof. He stood up, brushing leaves and dirt from his clothes.

"I'm in," he whispered to himself, trying to make himself feel better.

There was a door to his left, set back into the thick stone wall. He sighed, and took the ring of lockpicks from his belt, wiping the grit off on his tunic. The metal skewer entered the keyhole smoothly, and he began jiggling it around aimlessly. _I really have no idea about how to do this. What if it had been bolted from the other side?_ The lockpick caught on something, and snapped. He sighed again, and pulled out another, moving it around in a circle.

_Click!_

Templar turned the handle. _Should have listened to see is anyone was on the other side. _The door swung open, juddering a little. _Oh well, too late now_.

It revealed a thin passageway that almost immediately turned to the right. Another torch was mounted on the wall, this time above a pair of dusty crates. The confined space seemed to muffle all sound. Templar crept around the corner, towards the next chamber. He could see moonlight filtering down from somewhere, a few more boxes. Dust swirled gently in the air.

The room was much bigger, filled with stuff. Food, furniture… there were some small windows near the ceiling, which opened out onto street level. Bits of mortar from the poorly-tiled floor crunched underfoot. At the far end there was a little step up into another section, which was raised like a stage.

"MmmmMm…"

Templar stopped. He looked for a place to hide, but there was a brightly burning torch mounted on the right-hand wall. _Put it out, put it out… Something about water arrows…_ He felt the magic flow out of him, imagined his hand being made of water, curling around the fire and _quenching_ it.

There was a slight hiss, and the fire vanished. Templar crouched down behind an old cupboard and settled in to wait. _Well, they probably noticed the torch going out._

"-lpmmmm! Rrrgh!" There was a screeching sound. Templar stood up, walked forwards.

"Mmne!"

_There, around the corner_… "Argh!..." Templar stifled his shout. There was a guard writhing around on the floor, tied up and gagged. The screeching was the man's armour scratching across the stone. He breathed out.

_He's seen me now, unfortunately._ _And he's wearing_ really _cool armour, if I do say so myself_. Well, it was majestic too. And shining, and wonderful, and probably good at providing protection, which is always good in a suit of armour. The greaves and armguards were all tight-fitting and elegantly curved, made of bright silvery metal and lined with gold filigree, a ridge running down the centre. The upper leg was protected by leather flaps and fine chainmail, held together by a scarlet belt with a silver buckle. The breastplate was exquisitely moulded, showing off the wearer's finely-sculpted form and covered in the same gold designs, topped off with thick shoulderpads and an arched neckguard. The helmet was open at the front, sheets of polished steel protecting each cheek, with a red horsehair crest jutting from the top.

"Lllpmm!" Templar was shaken from his reverie, and realised that he was staring in what was probably a gormless way.

"Help you?"_ That was… unexpected._

The man nodded. _That's probably not the best idea in the world. But seeing as I'm such a good person…_ Templar knelt down and tried to untie the rope around his wrists. "Stop wriggling, you'll scratch that armour of yours."

The man stopped. After a brief moment, Templar finished untying him and pulled the gag from his mouth, throwing it over his shoulder.

"Thank you! Thank you, kind sir! Jezal dan Luthar of the Fighter's Guild, at your service." Jezal shuddered. "I would've been there all night, if it wasn't for you."

"Well, it's slightly ironic, actually. But I won't go into that."

The knight looked him up and down. "Say, are you a guard?"

"Yes, I was just… on break, actually. My name's Tem-… Garrett."

"But-"

"Did you see the man who attacked you?" Templar asked hurriedly.

Jezal scowled. "No, I didn't. He was too fast, the knave. And I could hear him laughing as he bound me. I'm telling you, ogres are easy compared to this. At least they're good and honest, even if they have the wrong intentions."

"Uh… I see." _Bells ringing furiously. _"Wait. You're the guy from the newspaper, aren't you. The one who saved the orc's daughter." _I have the strangest feeling of déjà vu._

"Yes. It wasn't too hard, though. And my heart could do nothing else."

_Ah, a noble one. I thought they didn't exist anymore. How nice would it be, to have such a simple… naïve outlook. But noble men make good friends._

"I'm sure I'd feel the same."

"How could you not?"

"Yes. Nice armour, too."

"It feels good wearing it." The knight smiled at him before continuing. He had perfect teeth, beautifully framed by his golden helm. Just for a moment, Templar hated him. "Of course, my own fighting prowess had something to do with saving her, but I assure you it was just duty. Like the kindness you have just done me."

"It was nothing." _Actually, no, it was slightly dangerous. Get rid of him!_ "How about you go and tell the captain about this, and I'll take your post here."

"I can't thank you enough. If you ever need something, just look me up at the Fighter's Guild." Jezal turned. "It may seem a small thing, but I always repay my friends. And now I may have a chance to catch him, before he murders another." The knight clenched a fist.

"Okay. Go and get a drink, or something. I'll go and get my uniform. Wait! There's something on your back."

It was a brown paper note, held on with sticky tape. Templar pulled it off. _'To all those that rule in the Emperor's stead: Is that the best you can do? Yours sincerely, the Grey Fox.' _

_The Grey Fox. Probably not a murderer, then. Just some guy too smart for his own good. The very opposite of my virtuous self._

"What is it, sir Garrett?" Jezal asked.

"Oh, nothing. Must have got stuck there." He stepped back. "I'll see you later. Hope you catch him. Just remember to do what's right!" he added half-heartedly.

Jezal disappeared among the clutter, muttering something. "A taste of the Emperor's justice. Yes indeed…"

"Well, that was interesting," Templar said aloud, thinking about his next move. _Better not follow him. I hope there's another way out of here._  
At the far end of the room there was another chamber to the left. He made his way over, clambering past a row of boxes. It must have been under the courtyard, as there was a hole in the roof, roughly covered with planks, through which he could see the sky.

The same guard was obviously still there. "Oh, for Akatosh's sake, where the Oblivion is my gods-damned food!"

_Not coming, hopefully. No, that's mean. I'm sure he's just an innocent little legionnaire. If he was in a book, he'd be one of those poor anonymous saps who all attack one at a time and get killed as soon as the baddies rush into the room in chapter three._

_Still, I just can't muster up any sympathy,_

Thick cobwebs were draped between posts, and a pair of exposed metal pipes disappeared down a corridor to the left, which seemed to run alongside the large room he'd just been in. At the end of the corridor was another small window. As he walked, a small rat scampered past, making him jump.

_Skitter skitter skitter_. _Grrroooooaaannnn…_

Templar jumped again. The pipes vibrated as water rushed through them. There was a locked door to his left, which he picked quickly. _I really should be more cautious_. Another small room, more barrels, another torch. _They've got a bloody labyrinth down here._ And around the corner… A ladder. Leading up to an open hatch in the ceiling. Templar again extinguished the nearby torch, just in case. It left his hand feeling a little weird afterwards, like it was made of wet clay.

Then someone stepped _over_ the hatch, whistling merrily. "_Whoo-who-hoo-hooooo, whoo-who-hooooo…"_

Templar waited, and noticed that his heart was still beating normally. _I'm getting good at this. _The man stepped over again, the whistling stopping.

Templar stepped onto the first rung of the ladder, and began pulling himself up as slowly as he could, muscles straining. His head was almost through the opening. He waited for a few seconds, and risked a quick glance.

_He was behind a bar_._ Wide windows to his left, the bar to his right. Bottles stacked underneath in neat rows. Small table and chair, with candle. Stone walls, planks for the floor and ceiling. A painting of someone's head on the wall. And a pair of legs._

_Pair of legs!_

Templar didn't dare to breath. Half a metre away was a pair of fat, hairy… perambulatory appendages. No doubt belonging to the whistler. But he couldn't hear any other noise, so he was probably alone.

_Up or down? Up or down? Up… _Templar kept climbing upwards. He used his arms to steady himself and lifted his legs to the side. Slowly, he stood up, hoping his knees wouldn't crack. _Well, now what? Idiot._

He stood there for what seemed like a long time. Then he slowly unhooked his bow from the quiver and raised it above the barman's head. He was polishing something idly, turning it over and over in his hands. A silver cup.

The bow came down, and met bone with a soft _crack_. The barman began to keel over, the cup falling from his hands. Templar knelt and caught it with an outstretched arm.

_That's what, b—tches! _He knelt there for a moment, breathing heavily. Then he stood up, praying that he wouldn't see a room full of surprised guests.

There wasn't, thankfully. His ears hadn't lied. _Should I dump the barman down the hatch? Nah. No one's going to be here for a while, it seems. _In fact, the only sound he _could_ hear was a faint murmur, coming from… another room. A fair way away. So he walked around the side of the bar and found himself in a sort of sitting room.

To his right was a pair of wide arches leading into another chamber. There was a blazing fire in the far corner, surrounded by three plush armchairs. The cold walls were bedecked with tapestries, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling. A stairway curved up around the far wall to another storey, and a barred double-door was the only other exit. A cat meowed suddenly, and Templar saw its shadow flickering in the firelight by the chairs.

_Now, I can't search every room in this place. So obviously I need to find a guest list. _He went back over to the bar and looked around. There was a book next to a bowl of fruit, which Templar flicked open.

_Inventory, bar tabs, staff list… guest list:_

…_The Duke of Colovia and retinue – Colovian Suite._

_Lord Julian Renly – Peony Suite_

_Master Vorig Luwin and Apprentice – Cityview Room_

_Gwinas Aphrael – Wisteria Room…_

He closed the book. It was still silent – _well, it's midnight, for the Gods' sake_ – so he went through and made his way up the stairs. On the landing was another lounge, a sofa, a few small tables and more armchairs arranged in the centre. Tall candlesticks stood in each corner, next to a gaggle of oil paintings and another firmly locked door. There was a window to his left, through which the moon shone brightly. The clouds had gone, revealing the constellations in all their glory. _Now, if I could only remember their names…_

There was another doorway, though, which Templar presumed led to the Tiber Septim's rooms. At least, that was what the plaque next to it said. 'Cityview, Wisteria, Dun, Bungalow.'

The door was, predictably, locked. The first time he tried, Templar snapped the pick in half. The bit inside was jammed, and he had to wriggle it free. He looked at his keyring. _Three left. Hopefully there's not too many more doors to circumnavigate. _He inserted the next pick, and pushed it upwards when he felt something give. _Click!_

The door swung open when he pulled, silky smooth. _No guards. A bit lax, isn't it?_ Another hallway, which turned right a few metres onwards. At the corner, there was another window. He listened briefly, but again it was silent. Still, his footsteps were unpleasantly loud on the hard timber floorboards. _Can't they afford carpet?_ He walked onwards, past elaborately-carved lintels, benches and wall-mounted candles. They burnt with a strange blue flame, which was presumably something to do with alchemy. He passed a door to his left, the Cityview Room.

The hallway turned again, left this time, and the new section had a population of…_one_. Templar ducked back around the corner, grateful that he hadn't been completely incautious. _Dear Akatosh, I hope he didn't see me_. But there weren't any cries of alarm.

Templar got to his hands and knees and risked another peek. The guard stood right in front of another window, and was framed by moonlight. Behind him was… a door. '_Cityview, Wisteria, Dun, Bungalow._' _I've passed the Cityview already. This inconveniently placed man must be_ _guarding some flowers._

Templar realised that the candle behind him was making him cast a shadow. _Hand, water. All around, dripping on the flames. Wet. More wet. More wet. More… Shit. Mage's flame. Should've known my tricks wouldn't work._

"Finally! Get back to your post, so I can go. I'm bursting."

He stopped himself from looking around the corner, as he knew he'd see a second guard walking towards him. _Emergency, emergency!_

_Damn, the shadow_. He retreated quickly, back past the candle.

"Did you hear something? Like a rat."

"No."

_The door to the Cityview will be locked, I'll just have to go back around-_

"Well, I'm off."

"Don't be too long."

"Ha! Coming from you."

The other guard began walking away. Templar realised the returning guard had stopped by the Wisteria door, instead of returning to his own post.

_Now, this will be interesting. I don't really want to shoot him. Guards have families too, etc. etc. So that leaves my wonderful skills of wizardry, which I seem to be making up as I go along. _

_Something not too obvious. How about… a small distraction?_

Noise. Waves of it, rebounding about the room, past the guard's head and down at the far end of the hallway. Not much; just a small crackle, the zig-zags of energy bouncing with energy, an arcing path, as if fired from a bow…

"Damn rats."

Templar felt dizzy. He reached out and steadied himself against the wall, vision darkening. _Now, idiot!_ He staggered around the corner while the guard was still looking the other way, somehow got his bow out and clocked him on the head. They both fell, and Templar had another go just to make sure, the wood jarring his hands. _Need… a club. What would Cyrus say if he saw this. _He sat against the wall, took his bottle of magicka and had a drink.

His breathing returned to normal, vision clearing, muscles relaxing. He stood up. The guard was lying on the floor, still faintly groaning, blood trickling from a small gash. _Now, I have about two minutes before his friend comes back. _He looked for some keys on the guard's belt, found one labelled _Wisteria_ _Room _and opened the door.

He stepped inside, thought for a moment, then dragged the body of the guard in with him.

There was a thick rug on the floor. A bench by one wall, a cupboard by the other, both of polished wood. A table surrounded by six chairs, covered in plates and unlit candles. A few expensive oil paintings of wisterias. There was another wide archway into the bedchamber. Templar could hear faint snoring, and hurried through.

The bed was big and soft, covered in red and gold silk sheets, and held a small, sleeping elf. Templar walked over. _That's him._ There was a window, barred, _which ruins one escape route_. Templar could see some sort of climbing plant snaking over the glass. _Wisterias, undoubtedly._ Moonlight fell through in pale sheets, shining on Gwinas' pallid skin. Just his neck and head were exposed, chest rising and falling gently. He crept over. There was a book on the bedside table-

_Sleeping, softly. He shouldn't have been there. A blade, that wasn't his. One last chance. _

_How was he to know it would end this way? His family, his children. A deception for the greater good. In the time before, he _had_ struck. Or had he?_

_The ring slipped onto the finger, easily. But whose ring, and whose finger? That was most important. However, that was the past, and this was now. His horse was waiting outside, just this one last chance and then…_

_A man can change. He repeated it like a mantra. A man can change…_

-and he snatched it up in his fingers, almost knocking over the wisteria-filled vase. He held the cover up to the light. 'Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, Volume III.' It was covered in greasy fingerprints.

A bit of paper fluttered out from between the pages. He picked it up, glanced at it. '_Sewer Junction 4, 3pm Hearthfire 7. Needless to say, come alone, and prepare to see our wondrous power… Praise Dagon, the Sponsor.'_

_Blue and red, fires intertwined in his mind, weary but determined. This wasn't the past, this was changing things now. The red pulsed, almost… happily. Maliciously. Blue faded, which was unsettling, it meant-_

But enough of that. He had to get of here. _Can't go through the window, can't go back the way I came… Which leaves going out the front door._ His eyes landed on the body of the fallen guard. _Well, here's a question I didn't think I'd ask: How fast can you strip a man?_

---

Quite fast, it turned out. Templar hoped it wasn't from previous experience. He made sure his bow and the book were secure, and shoved the guard's body into a corner. _He'll have some nasty splinters when he wakes up._

The hallway was still deserted. He locked the door behind him and set off to the right, where the other guard had come from originally. The man's armour didn't really fit him and he'd just chucked it on over his old tunic, old cloak stuffed into a pocket – but hopefully it would be convincing enough to let him escape. His newfound sword rubbed unpleasantly against his side, and the crimson cloak flapped around his legs.

The hallway ended at a T-junction. _Improvise, improvise._ Suddenly, he heard footsteps, coming towards him. _Sh—t. He's coming back. _The noise seemed to be coming from the right...

Templar chose left, and began running down the passageway. Doors and alcoves streamed past, and he skidded around a corner.

The second guard turned into the hallway, just missing the sight of Templar's retreating back. The footsteps continued, coming up to the Wisteria room passageway. _Any second now he's going to realise his buddy's missing. And that gives me… another two minutes._

Templar walked as fast as he dared, and emerged onto a wide second-story balcony. The roof sloped high above him, and he could hear people talking on the floor below. There were a few sets of tables and chairs along the railing. Barred doors prohibited any other route but down the stairs to the right.

A man and woman sat at one table, talking in low tones, and Templar struggled against the impulse to duck out of sight. He started off down the stairs, and they didn't pay him any notice. _Walk slow. Be normal. But they're right behind-_

His legs sped up of their own accord, and he let them. The room beneath was large, and seemed to be the main hall. Large tables were set out in rows, the chairs stacked upside-down on top of them. More paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, brightening up the smooth plaster. At the far end was a large fireplace, surrounded by several large chairs. Thick stone columns supported the balcony, and underneath it was a bar and kitchen. The bartender was currently absent, and barrels were stacked high in the corners. More tables were set in secluded alcoves in the walls, beneath delicate stained-glass windows.

Two men were sitting and talking by the fireplace, attended to by a weary serving girl. As Templar walked, he saw two guards walking up and down.

_Act natural. Hope they don't notice you._ He walked between the dark tables, trying to shield his face with a hand. _Don't want witnesses._

"And then… we cut our way through. Five good men against twenty, and my accursed cousin." Fragments of conversation reached his ears. There was a door behind the bar, which probably led to a service area of some sort.

"Well, you're a cook. What would you know? Ha, ha, ha!"

He skirted around the armchairs. One of the men glanced at him. It looked like the guards weren't paying him any attention either.

"As I was saying, when I reach the vaults and take the Bloodline Opal, I will take my place at the head of the family…"

One of the guards murmured something. "…you hear? They found Stark all tied up outside. Told us to stay at our posts. '_Protect the guests at all costs,_' you know the…"

The door was unlocked, and Templar slipped through. The room was filled with dormant fires, above which hung large cookpots. On a large bench in the centre were the remains of an animal carcass, surrounded by a black cloud of flies, and a large meat cleaver.

Then a guard walked through a door at the other end of the room. He picked his way through the clutter.

_Damn! Damndamndamndamndamn!_

"Lannister! You here to take over my post? Cause you're late. I want my supper."

"Uh… so- sorry." Templar tried to stop himself from stammering too much.

"Well, get to-" The guard looked at him strangely. Templar followed his gaze, and saw that he had a rather large bloodstain on his cloak. _He didn't bleed _that_ much, did he?_

"What happened to you?" he asked astonishingly. "Wait. You're not Lannister."

"I'm… Garrett." _Say something more, idiot!_

The guard took in his ill-fitting armour and dirty tunic underneath. "You're wearing Lannister's uniform. That's his cloak, and he doesn't like lending it to anyone. So, you've got ten seconds to explain yourself until the swords come out."

_Ten… nine… eight… _"Uh…" _seven… six…_

_To hell with this._ Templar leapt backwards and tugged at his sword, which wouldn't budge. _Why is this HAPPENING!_ The guard's sword didn't have any inappropriate malfunctions and smoothly slid out into the stuffy night air. Torchlight danced off the blade.

Templar tugged at his sword again, stumbling backwards. The guard wasn't saying anything, preferring to concentrate on killing.

"_F—ck this!_" Templar whispered, remembering not to shout, which sounded a little weird. He dived forwards and grabbed the meat cleaver off the table. _I really, REALLY don't want to kill him with a meat cleaver. Or anyone, for that matter. I don't want to kill… someone good._ He was saved from his moral reasoning by the fact that the cleaver was stuck fast in the table, and refused to budge. Templar didn't bother swearing this time, and tried to stay out of reach of the guard's sword.

The man was about to call for help. Templar picked up a bone from the bench and threw it at the guard, bits of gristle trailing after it. The bone slammed into his stomach, pushing the air from his lungs. Templar wiped his blood-slicked hands on Lannister's cloak. _Improvise, dammit._

The guard rushed forwards, sword raised over his head, cutting downwards. Templar grabbed a… from the table and shoved it in the way of the blade, bracing himself. The sword struck with a wet splat, sending bits of… _censored by a sensible brain that wants to stay sane, courtesy of Templar Estantesec…_flying everywhere. Templar let the mass of intestines fall to the ground and struggled not to throw up. The guard was bending over too, clutching at a support beam. He wiped the blood from his face just in time to see the guard throw up.

He saw a skinned cow's head right next to his hand, but decided against it and instead ran up and kicked the guard in the groin. The smell of spew wafted gently into his nostrils, milling around with the scent of delicate offal. Flies buzzed furiously.

He ran, kicking open the door and stumbling out into the cool night air. He paused for a couple of seconds, then forced himself to look around.

There were no more guards. He was in a small walled courtyard, filled with bushes trimmed into strange shapes. _Why, look, there's a duck. How cute._

_intestines ARRGH_

There was another door leading into the courtyard, but he didn't bother with it. _I'm trying to get out, not back in._ The walls looked smooth and unclimbable, but some kind soul had left a ladder leaning against one, leading up to the hotel roof.

_It's nice to have a stroke of luck now and again._

He began climbing, not looking down. _This would be all fine if you weren't scared of heights. Just as well thievery isn't your day job. _He reached the top and clambered up onto the sloping tiles, getting his foot stuck in the gutter. _Don't they call the rooftops the thieves' highway? _He kicked the ladder away from him, which only resulted in it coming to rest on the roof at the other side of the courtyard. He decided against going back to remove it for good and instead stood up.

Half the Imperial City was spread out before him, all the way up to the high walls of the Palace. Not many buildings were taller than the Tiber Septim.

Bright yellow stars twinkled here and there, from street-level torches to third-storey, still-lit windows, little isolated pools of light that looked like fireflies. A forest of chimneys and weathervanes prickled the undulating sea of rooves, sloping up and down, low to high, divided here and there by the dark gashes of avenues and squares. The dome of the Temple of the One was an inkblot on the frozen world, White-Gold Tower a spear of shadows. From far off in the distance the sound of music entered his ears, almost drowned out by chirping insects. The stars were dazzling overhead, their shapes somehow unfamiliar to him. But beautiful all the same.

"-llllpm!"

Templar jumped, ready for another stupid fight. He stepped around a chimney, gripping it a bit too hard, trying to keep his balance on the slippery slate.

"Hlme!"

"Oh, Jezal. It's you."

The knight was again writhing around, again bound and gagged, perilously close to falling off the edge. His handsome face was a picture of righteous fury.

"Watch out, you'll fall. This friend of yours must really hate you." He knelt down and scrambled over to where the knight lay. The crest of his helm was getting rather crushed. Templar listened for any shouts of pursuit, heard none, and set to work on the knots, his unresponsive fingers getting scratched by Jezal's silver, splendidly engraved but very sharp mail gloves.

"I really don't have time for this, Jezal. I'm a wanted man." _By Akatosh, you really are having a bad day._

"Nndyeemmph!"

"Patience, patience." The knight's arms were free, and he was trying to push himself up. The knots around his legs were just coming loose-

"MEHHNNDYUU!"

_Mendyuu. Ehend yuu. Behind you._

_!_

Templar whirled around, and saw a man in some sort of grey cowl rear up against the sky. _Roll – side – crack – away_

A blackjack cracked into the roof where he'd been a moment ago. The figure whirled around faster than Templar though possible and sprinted off.

_Dive dive dive! Hit your afterburners, pilot!_

_Afterburners? What are they?_

Jezal had got his legs out of his ropes and was following in hot pursuit, ripping out his gag. The knight's armour made enraged clanking sounds as Templar attempted to follow.

Jezal's assailant dodged around a chimney and he lost sight of him suddenly below the edge of a roof. The knight was still running gamely, silhouetted against the stars. Templar slid for an instant, panicking, until he fund his footing again.

Then the figure made a gigantic leap across to another building, and was gone. Templar skidded to a stop beside Jezal, uncomfortably aware of the long drop a few feet in front of him.

The knight was speechless. Whether it was from exhaustion or annoyance, Templar didn't know. He patted him on the back gently. "You'll catch him next time."

The knight nodded slowly, and gave him a thumbs up. It looked like a gesture he… wasn't used to giving. Templar began walking away, looking for a way down. "I might call in for that favour sometime, too."

After a minute, Jezal finally turned to look at him. "About that orc-"

But he was nowhere to be seen.

---

"_There was a brief conflagration in the Tiber Septim Hotel yesterday evening, notable for the fact that a well-known Altmer businessman was murdered there in his room just two days ago. Despite the increased Watch presence, the intruder managed to escape while incapacitating at least two guards. Witnesses did not report seeing anything unusual. In another, separate incident, Jezal dan Luthar of the Fighter's Guild (featured in yesterday's edition) was also accosted by a mysterious trespasser. These two confrontations throw the competency of the City Watch into question, something which the Watch Commander refused to comment upon in these troubled times."_

_Go to the main story. It's right there._

---

Main Story

Martin winced as pins and needles shot down his legs. The table was covered in old scrolls and leather-bound tomes, everything which Jauffre and Cyrus had managed to dig up about Oblivion and Dragonfires. He sighed. Jauffre was more concerned with the immediate problem of Oblivion Gates opening everywhere, and Captain Steffan was off doing something about the Mythic Dawn. So was Templar.

He'd learnt a fair bit about his real father over the past two days. Jauffre had been able to reveal the Emperor's more… personal side. Not just that far-off figure that ruled half the known world. He even knew his mother's name – Sansa – but not much else about her. The old Grandmaster was reluctant to talk. Or maybe he just didn't know anything either.

"Anything you need, sire?"

"What? Oh, me. No. I'm fine." It was Belisarius, who'd been assigned as his squire of sorts. As he answered, he tried to sound firm like a ruler should, but still – well, nice. "Just don't make sure I go to bed too late."

The Blade laughed nervously. "Of course." He left, walking back down the hallway.

_If I was still a priest, I could join in with their games. Talk to them. Help them. But throw an Amulet around someone's neck, and they're suddenly a mountain, distant and concerned with bigger things._

Syrinx nibbled his leg. He smiled gently, and scratched her behind the ears. That was what he'd been calling the cat, lately. Syrinx. Strange name.

"You're not worried, are you."

Templar still wasn't back. He knew he should give it a reasonable amount of time, but he missed having someone who could make him laugh. And annoy him. And make him _feel_. At least he didn't have to worry too much about the man's health; he had so much stupid _luck_.

'It is_ said_ that _Aegon the Conqueror_ forged the Dragonfires in the fires of _Akatosh_ in _Tamriel's heart_, with his_ army_ rallying _behind him-'_

When he began thinking in italics, Martin knew it was time to get to sleep, and face his dreams of fire. Dreams of death. Perhaps the scariest thing was they might actually mean something. _The dreams of an Emperor may change the fates of millions…_

---

From the hallway, the Blade Belisarius watched his new Emperor turn in for the night. Martin blew out the candles, stumbling a little on a loose floorboard, and fell onto the mattress, not bothering to take off his robe.

Belisarius closed the door and stood for a moment, hearing the rustle of sheets. He had the strangest feeling that everything might – just might – turn out alright.

But he couldn't quite escape the sense of foreboding that still clouded his mind.


	28. First Strike

_Author's Note: There is no author's note, due to budget cuts and a lack of things to say. Oh, wait, here's something: I was starting to write an interactive fiction game (because, you know, that's what cool people do when they're bored) and after about ten hours of work something really stupid happened and it got deleted. Damn. _

_EDIT: This chapter was actually completed about ten weeks ago, but due to my laziness I couldn't be bothered proof-reading it. Exams and things got in the way. But here it is, about twice as long as I thought it would be. 17,000 words of TtEoT goodness. Wow, what a weird acronym._

_DOUBLE ULTRA-EXTREME EDIT: My, this author's note just seems to grow and grow. I actually wrote parts of this without playing through the relevant section of the game, so some of the details are wrong, such as the Sponsor wearing armour. Some of the descriptions are still a bit awkward, too. But who cares. And I have nothing against Playing with Fire: Oblivion's Forbidden Law, but it had a nice title. I've heard it's good, so read it now!_

First Strike

_**The Foaming Flagon, Talos Plaza District, The Imperial City, Hearthfire 7 3E433**_

Another morning, another egg, another newspaper. A few more days of this, and Templar's life would be pleasantly routine. This idle wish was ruined, however, by the note.

Ah yes, the note. After liberating the third volume of Mankar Camoran's Commentaries from Gwinas, he'd discovered a small scrap of paper wedged between its yellowing pages:

"_Gwinas,_

_Your interest in the writings of the Master has been noted. You are taking the first steps towards true enlightenment. Persevere, and you may yet join the exalted ranks of the Chosen. If you wish to continue further down the Path of Dawn, you will need the fourth volume of the Master's "Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes." It can be obtained only from a member of the Order of the Mythic Dawn. As your designated Sponsor, I will pass on my copy to you if I deem you worthy.  
Study the first three volumes of the Master's writings. Look for the hidden meaning in his words, as best as you are able. When you are ready, come to the Sunken Sewers under the Elven Gardens in the Imperial City. Come alone. Follow the main tunnel until you reach the room with the table and chair. Sit down. I will meet you there and give you what you desire. Hearthfire 7, as the clock strikes five at dusk._

_The Sponsor."_

Another morning, another book-hunt. Pleasant routine could wait.

**---**

The Boarding House was busy, people checking in and outf, tables being cleared away, orders being served along the counter. He spied Baurus over by one of the far windows, munching something that was burnt and greasy. The Blade nodded in acknowledgement as Templar made his way over to the table, winding through the crowd.

_Even if he doesn't like me too much, I'm sure he has his reasons. Besides, backup may be useful, as I've learnt on several occasions._

_You know what? This will be the first time we've taken the initiative from the Mythic Dawn. A first strike, as it were. They'll have to react to _us_ for a change._

"Hey!"

Templar glanced down, and saw that he'd knocked someone's glass over. "Oh. Sorry. Should I get you another one?"

"Just piss off."

"Okay," Templar replied meekly.

"Don't worry about him," shouted a voice loudly. It was an old man, a stained apron printed with '_Luther Broad's: The best place in town'_ concealing a healthy paunch. "He's just a mean-spirited old bastard."

"Uhh… okay." He noticed that the other guy was still glaring at him, and hurriedly moved on.

Baurus gestured at a nearby seat, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Templar sat down opposite, managing to avoid any further incidents. "Keep eating if you want," he said quietly.

"No, it's alright. I've been looking for you anyway. You're not easy to get a hold of, you know."

"I was busy."

"So I've heard," Baurus replied. "What have you found?"

"Well." _Straight to business. _Templar gathered his thoughts. "I figured out what that book was for. It was written by the leader of the Mythic Dawn – Mankar Camoran – and basically tells people how to join up. That's the short version."

"Uh-huh."

"It's all mystic gobbledegook about the daedric lord of destruction, so I can't make any sense of it. But I also found the second and third books."

"Busy indeed."

"You could say that. Apparently there are four volumes, and number four is very rare. However, I've also got a note" – Templar rummaged around in his pockets – "here, which has the location of a meeting with some Mythic Dawn member called the Sponsor where he'll give me the fourth book. And then we only have to decode the damn thing and find the Mythic Dawn headquarters." He took a breath.

Baurus looked at him for a moment, and took a deep breath of his own. "This is all very good, and it could be the break we've been looking for, but… you said he'll give _you_ the fourth book."

"Yes. I'll go to the meeting and pretend to be the guy who's looking for a way into the Dawn. Get in, get the book, get out."

"Isn't that a bit dangerous? You don't know how many cultists will be there. And it's the perfect spot for an ambush. I can think of better ways to do this." Baurus picked up his knife and fork and took another bite of meat. "Thalia and I've been watching Mythic Dawn drop points over the past few days, and I think we're getting close to discovering the headquarters ourselves."

_He's being remarkably cavalier._ "Of course it's dangerous. That's why you're coming with me."

The Blade half-choked on his breakfast. "What?"

"I'm pretty sure my way's quicker, and time is a bit tight, isn't it? They do have the Amulet of Kings, which I've heard is rather vital."

"True." He paused for a moment. "So you're set on doing this?"

_I suppose I am. Usually I wouldn't be so reckless, so eager to walk into danger – ha! Oh gods, I make myself laugh. Not reckless. Really? – but we're getting close. I can feel it in my bones. I can even feel it in my spleen, but that could be my breakfast. In other words..._

"Yes."

"Alright. Come to think of it, I probably should go with you. Two's better than one, after all, and you'll probably need the help." Baurus said decisively. "And time is of the essence, as you said."

"Thanks, Baurus. I appreciate it."

The Blade looked away. "Yeah, well… Let's go. I'll just go and get suited up," he answered, gesturing at his roughspun clothes. "I know that part of the sewers well. On occasion we use them for undercover work, to move around the city without attracting attention." He mustered a smile. "I hope you like rats."

---

Templar adjusted his helmet, lining up the slit with his eyes. He looked out across the busy street, passers-by throwing him curious glances.

"Won't the Mythic Dawn be a little suspicious if we go in wearing armour?"

"Not really. Armour or no armour, there's still only one of you and lots of them. Besides, the sewers can be dangerous places." Baurus had forgone his Blades armour in favour of some nondescript chainmail. "There's an entrance a few streets down." He strode off along the street, lined on either side by middle-class stone houses, occasionally shaded by trees and arched walkways. The road sloped upwards as the boarding house receded behind them. A line of horses trotted past, the sound of their hooves on the cobbled stone echoing inside his helmet.

The sun was setting in a clear orange sky. _Probably one of the last times it will. The leaves are turning red, the nights are colder, and there could be open war in a few months. Winter's coming._

Baurus suddenly crossed the road and ducked into a small opening. It was a gap between two houses, an alleyway that opened up into a larger courtyard. A small shrine was tucked in between a few overgrown bushes, and a couple of bright red toadstools grew from cracks in the pavement. Further on the courtyard opened up into another street, past which was the Imperial canal, a calm, cool but somewhat dirty waterway that encircled the looming walls of White Gold Tower.

"Over here." Baurus had stopped by a small manhole cover in one corner. He pulled it open with a grunt, laying the metal grating up against the wall. Templar knelt down and peered into the dark opening. _Somebody knows why. Down there… somebody knows why the Emperor died. I'm waiting for a flash of enlightenment here, but none seems forthcoming._

A ladder led down into the gloom, and Templar thought he could glimpse where the passage opened out into a larger chamber.

"You first," Baurus murmured.

Templar made sure his weapons were secure and swung down over the lip. He gripped the cold metal of the ladder with sweaty hands, felt around for the next rung. _Down we go._After a few more steps Baurus started descending as well, blocking out most of the light from above.

The circular walls of the shaft scraped his back for what seemed like an age, until he felt himself enter an open space. It was almost pitch black, and oppressively silent. He felt his foot touch the ground. "I'm at the bottom," he said softly.

"Get some light going, will you?" Baurus replied, his voice echoing around the damp stone walls. Vague black outlines swam before Templar's eyes as he felt around his belt for a torch. A spark flared in the darkness, half-blinding him as it jumped from his fingers, and the flames sprang to life. Baurus dropped down next to him and took one of the torches for himself, throwing a feeble orange radiance into the corners of the chamber.

It was a cavernous space, rectangular, the ceiling far above. The stone blocks of the walls glistened with moisture, and Templar could feel cold air seeping into his armour. Piles of muck had collected up against small alcoves, together with a few broken crates and lanky, dripping cobwebs. They stood on a sort of upper level, a small balcony in one corner, with a narrow stairway to the left. Baurus began making his way down gingerly, trying not to slip.

The streets above seemed a world away as Templar followed the Blade, one hand pressed tightly against the wall, the other gripping his torch. A small channel cut across the floor, filled with a shallow stream of water, leading into two small tunnels on opposite sides of the room that wound their way into darkness.

"This way." Baurus picked the tunnel furthest from the stairs. Templar stepped across the channel and continued onwards, ducking his head slightly.

"Seems like a big place," Templar said to fill the silence.

"It is. Most of it seems unnecessary for a mere sewer, so maybe these rooms were in use a few hundred years ago."

The passage soon opened into another room, this one a lot smaller. The channel emptied out into a large, rusting metal grating that covered a shaft in the floor; the trickle of running water sounded strangely distant. Baurus walked over to a lever on the wall, connected to two chains which hung from the ceiling. He pulled it, and with a muted rattling, the chains began to move. A thick door at the other end of the room rose slowly, sliding into a hidden crevice, until the lever stopped with a sudden _clunk_.

"Onwards." _This place seems fairly tame so far. Wouldn't want to be lost in here, though._

"Yes. Watch out for mudcrabs. They're a bit of an infestation down here."

The door revealed another passageway, which gradually curved to the right. At its end was another rectangular room of dull grey stone, all sharp edges worn away by centuries of moisture. Scattered around the walls were some small, murky openings, protected by metal bars, and yet another low tunnel. After walking for half a minute or so, their way was blocked by a small metal gate. Templar waited as Baurus pulled a key from his belt, unlocking it before continuing down the passage.

Then something tickled at the back of Templar's mind. More like a lack of something. A small gap that shouldn't have been there. The tunnel bent around another corner, and his shoulder scraped against the wall. "There's something I've been wondering about. It's not much, but…" He spoke softly. It seemed as if the sewer's denizens wouldn't appreciate loud noises. "Would you be able to name all of the guilds in Cyrodiil? Discountinfg all the crazy ones."

"Uh, probably. Fighter's Guild, Mages Guild, Thieves' Guild – apparently, depends who you ask – Guild of Science and History, Merchant's Guild, Sailor's Guild, Worker's Union. I believe there's even a Fool's Guild. Oh, and the Assassins. Dark Brotherhood, or whatever they're called. I suppose they fit the description."

"Thanks." _Now, one of those must be… important. Why else would that information have been taken from me? _A drop of water plinked on his helmet.

The next room was a lot like the one the one they'd just left, except that it contained a few more cobwebs dangling from the high ceiling. A few rotting planks covered a large shaft in the floor, which Templar took care to step around.

-scrape scrape-

He jumped as something skittered out of the torchlight. "What was that?"

"A crab, most likely. As I said, watch out. Some of them get pretty big."

Templar's torch flickered as a little as he took a closer look at one of the recesses in the wall. Suddenly, a large round shape shot out and around his legs. He got a glimpse of a smooth blue carapace and some glistening mandibles before it quickly disappeared into another dark niche.

"I see."

Baurus had already disappeared into the next tunnel. Then Templar heard the Blade draw his sword, and began to run. _Shing! _There was a thick clicking sound, mixed with some frantic splashing.

He emerged into the next room to find Baurus standing over a dead crab floating on its back, a gaping cut in its dull white chitinous belly. It was around half a metre in diameter with a smooth blue shell, its six segmented legs splayed about in the water. Its large claws still waved about weakly.

"Try to stick with me," the Blade said warningly.

"Sorry."

This room, Templar saw, was part of the actual sewer. Baurus stood in the central canal, a fairly deep channel that ran down the centre of the long space, filled with knee-deep water. The buttressed roof was low overhead, brightly reflecting the orange torchlight. Templar saw now that the floor of the passageway he'd emerged from concealed another, smaller channel that emptied out into the main waterway. He stood on one of the thin raised walkways to either side, a few wooden planks serving as primitive bridges over the canal between them. Large circular pipes emerged from the walls, streams of stinky, scummy water flowing out. Rectangular openings in the ceiling presumably led up to drains on street level.

Templar made his way down a small set of steps that led into the murky water, and splashed his way over to Baurus.

"So. The fun begins here, right?" he said unenthusiastically.

"Right," the Blade replied. "Just stay close. As you might have noticed, all these rooms look the same."

The canal momentarily narrowed into a small, low passage, before opening up again into a similar section to the one they'd just left. A few thin, crumbling stone footbridges arced over the water at regular intervals, and Templar could see openings into other unknown rooms to the left and right. As he watched, something scuttled away from them in the distance, the water rippling faintly. Light streamed down through a gap in the roof, giving everything a blue radiance.

They splashed through the water, towards the next tunnel. Pipes and discarded boxes passed by on either side.

_Hisssss…_

"What was that?" _It came from that doorway. Just in front of us._

Baurus drew his sword, and carefully put his torch down on one of the drier raised sections. The flame fizzled sharply as it came into contact with the wet stone. He began edging forwards, looking around cautiously.

_BAM!_

Then something small and vicious leapt out of an opening to the right, a blur of green heading- "Ssss… Invaders… stealers!" The shape splashed down into the water and Templar recoiled instinctively as a sheet of water plastered the air. "_RAHGGRR!"_It snarled intelligibly and leapt forwards, hacking at Baurus with long, grimy claws, scything through the air. Templar rushed forwards and caught his foot in a hidden grating, flying forwards. The torch flew from his hand and was promptly extinguished.

"Ah, dammit!"

The goblin circled through the water. It had a small quiver of arrows and a crude iron bow slung across its back, but its hands were more than capable of killing on their own. Baurus slashed at the creature warily, keeping it at bay. Templar got to his feet and began moving around in the other direction.

The thing was nothing more than a bag of bones, really. Its pallid green skin and skeletal arms weren't exactly products of good health. _It must be desperate, just living down here with nothing but crabs for company. It's probably known nothing else._

Templar's sword bit into the goblin's leg, and it screeched painfully. Blood flowed into the cloudy water. Baurus aimed a killing cut at its head, but the creature ducked swiftly and backed away. Further, further… until it was gone. It disappeared into the doorway it had emerged from, another warren of rooms and tunnels.

The Blade sheathed his sword, and they stood there together. Templar pulled the driest torch he could find from his belt and attempted to light it. After a few failed conventional attempts, he gave up and cheated. _Imagine fire, and the water steams up into the air, drifting… _It whooshed into life, making the world seem a little brighter.

Wordlessly, they moved into the next section of the sewers. Almost wordlessly, anyway.

"How much further?" Templar asked.

"We're about half-way, I think."

"Weren't there any closer entrances?" Templar moved his torch to his shield arm, so he'd have a free hand for any other surprises.

"Don't think so. Come on."

Fifty metres onwards, through another low tunnel, the channel ended in a long, thin gap in the wall which led to some other part of the sewer. Baurus vaulted up onto the narrow, raised strip of stone to the right and made for one of the adjacent doorways, which concealed a small, gently curving passageway. The finish this time was a bit rougher, the occasional block missing from the walls, roof sagging slightly. Templar tried the count his steps as they strode onwards, but discovered that it was far too boring.

The corridor emerged into a square room about twice as tall as it was wide, with a domed roof. The columns in each corner merged into trusses that met in the centre of the ceiling, surrounding a circular opening that let in some daylight, illuminating the light mist that covered the floor. An arched bridge crossed the room over their heads.

"You're right. This must have been used for something. Sewers might be a part of it, but this wouldn't look out of place in a castle." _An underground city that almost no one knows about. Just think what it could be like…_

They moved through a small doorway and into a chamber not unlike the one they'd first descended into, tall and rectangular with a stairway along one wall – except this one contained a goblin.

It had set up a large cauldron wedged in a pile of sludge in one corner, surrounded by a trio of sticks which were mounted with… skulls. A small cookfire was burning as well, next to a crude wooden footstool and a closed chest.

The goblin turned as they entered, pointed ears pricking up, its pitted red eyes glaring, mouth turning up into a snarl and revealing pointed teeth. It snatched up a sword from the ground and rushed at them, sandals slapping on the stone floor.

It aimed for Templar first. He waited until it was a split-second away before swinging his shield arm in a vicious upwards arc, his torch trailing sparks, the metal smashing into the goblin's chest and throwing it through the air. The creature fell to the ground with a wet _splat_, and lay there unmoving.

"I hope it's still alive."

Templar was answered with a soft groan. He noticed that the goblin's cauldron was also filled with skulls. Lots of them, of various origin.

"It seems so," Baurus replied. "Well, up the stairs we go."

At the top there was yet another small square room. Baurus picked a doorway to the right, and they emerged onto the bridge they'd passed under two minutes earlier. Templar looked up into the circular shaft above as he walked across – _mainly to avoid looking at the ground, and this stupid, slippery thin bridge – _and saw what he thought was the evening sky.

The bridge ended at the entrance to… another small square room. _Whoop-de-doo, Baurus. Are we lost?_ This one had a large stack of broken crates and barrels in one corner to add some interest. There was a tunnel to the right, which abruptly ended at a thick metal door, circular rivets covering its surface.

"Got the keys?" Templar asked.

"Of course."

_Click! Groooannnn…_

The door swung open to reveal a large, cavernous chamber. It was another canal, leading off into the gloom, with raised, dry walkways on either side, the occasional metal grating covering the entrance of a smaller channel. Templar couldn't see the other end. This waterway was a lot wider, and further on it seemed to be divided into two by a large stone wall that ran down the centre. The roof curved overhead, again dotted with drainage pipes. A few blocks were missing here and there from the walls, the edges smoothed off over time by the slow current.

"By Akatosh, it smells here, doesn't it?" Templar pinched his nose and wafted the air in front of his face.

Baurus allowed himself a half-smile. "Just be glad you're not under the slaughterhouses."

"_Squeak!_"

There was a large rat lying in the water, tail undulating as it swam towards them.

"_Squeak! Squeak!_"

_Make that three rats. Oh, look, and a crab._

_scuttle scuttle scuttle_

Another two rats had emerged from hidden niches, and a crab was making its way towards them along the walkway.

"If they attack, you take the crab, and I'll take the rats," Baurus said firmly.

"Sure." _That's the trouble with having giant animals. They always want to kill you, for some reason. Perhaps they aren't small enough to find us scary._

The first rat began lurching up the small stairway that ascended from the water. Baurus slashed at it and cut a long gash in its back, sending it scrambling back to its friends. Templar watched as the crab approached, zig-zagging wildly, then decided to cut the sh—t and threw a lightning bolt at it.

_Zrraapp!_

Electricity arced through the air and missed the crab by inches, and Templar gagged a little at the sudden energy drain. However, thanks to a conveniently-placed puddle, the lightning scattered furiously, jumping across the water and catching the crab in a deadly embrace of purple sparks.

"_SQUUEAAAK!_"

Baurus sent the last rat flying with a solid kick. Then Templar saw something flying towards him out of the darkness, ducked suddenly. "ARROW!" he bellowed, the echoes reverberating from the tunnel walls.

Baurus jumped sideways in cover and the projectile fell harmlessly into the water. "_ARROW Arrow arrow arrow…_"

There was a goblin standing up ahead who had obviously decided to take advantage of the distraction. Templar crouched down behind his shield.

"Shoot him, will you?" Baurus said from his own hiding spot.

"Happy to oblige!" He peeked above the rim of his shield to see the goblin fire another arrow, which missed by a couple of feet. The thing hissed disappointedly and reached for another.

Templar stood up, reached out and imagined… a storm.

_It wasn't stormy that night. It was perfectly clear, the stars twinkling in the sky. And the houses, the merchants, the fields aflame, as if the end of the world had arrived terribly, terribly early._

_Some horses neighed in the distance. That meant… that meant the legion had arrived. The legion! Thank the gods. They would be able to deal with this-… with this-_

"_Oh, no. Not now. We have to get you-"_

The bolt flew from his fingers and hit the goblin square in the chest. It crumpled backwards, plummeting into the canal.

"Woah. That was a big one." Baurus came up behind him. "Sure you didn't overdo it?"

Templar winced. "No." _Electricity is probably not the best spell to use in a place which is half-filled with water, now I think about it. _"But I feel really thirsty. Really, really thirsty."

"Well, just don't drink the water. That'll probably kill you much more quickly than anything else down here."

They started walking again. "How much further?"

"Not far. Just past this section." Baurus replied.

"Good."

"We call this part the 'Sunken Sewers.'" Templar waited for Baurus to elaborate, but the Blade was silent.

The thirst soon passed. They had to enter the water briefly to duck through a small tunnel before re-entering the main canal. Every now and then a footbridge would arc overhead, or a shaft to the surface would let whatever daylight remained up above. One section of roof had partly collapsed, forcing them to clamber over the pile of rubble. The sewer seemed to continue without beginning or end, and was deathly silent apart from the sound of trickling water. _Completely empty, except for the stench, which is so distinct it smells like an old friend. Strange – it's much more noticeable here than anywhere else. Perhaps because the refuse of ten thousand people drains into this wonderful river I have here._

Perhaps five minutes later, Baurus gestured to the left. "Through here." There was a doorway bounded by two thick pillars. It was barred by a flimsy metal gate, which the Blade opened quietly. "I don't think they're here yet," he said softly. "Oh, and there's something I should tell you – I arranged for some backup. There's a group of about five Blades that will arrive five minutes after this meeting is scheduled to take place. Just in case. And it makes them… happier, I suppose, to be involved. I've been doing a lot of this alone, as you know."

"More backup? That's good. Could be useful." _I hope the Dawn are on time, though._

This room was a large rectangle (as most rooms are), cleft in the middle by a great crack in the stone floor. A stairway against the far wall led to a small landing up above. There was a corridor on the right side of the room that led off to… god knows where. Templar couldn't say that he cared very much.

"Alright. The room with the table is just through this door." There was a wooden door opposite them, firmly shut. "I always wondered who put it there," Baurus added.

"Don't you think the Mythic Dawn would realise that the Emperor's Blades are using their meeting point as a thoroughfare?"

"Obviously not. Anyway, I happen to know that if you go up those stairs you can get a vantage point on the meeting room."

"So one of us does the talking while the other watches from above. That's probably the best we can do, in the circumstances," Templar answered.

"Yes. I think I'd better be the one to handle the meeting, though." Baurus paused. "You can be my backup. This Sponsor guy might think you're a bit heavily armoured for a simple exchange."

_He's probably right. I'm more of a fighter, not a talker, as people may have noticed by now. But then again, I'm the one who found the note, and I know the most about this whole Commentaries thing._

_A decision is called for!_

_If you decide to meet the Sponsor yourself, go to Block 1._

_If you decide to watch from the shadows, go to Block 2, which is, strangely, located after Block 5._

_See, number one's kind of like Darth Vader, all this directness and gratuitous killing and looking for the locations of secret Rebel bases. Number two's a bit like the Emperor in Star Wars, you know, all that evil whispering he does. Bust out the lightning when things get tough. Hmm, this analogy is stretching the bounds of my credibility._

---

1

"You know what? I think I'll meet them myself. I know the most about this whole Mythic Dawn Commentaries thing."

"No, it should be me. I have a… a blood debt to repay these assassins," Baurus shot back. "I've trained for this kind of thing my whole life, whereas you… no offence. I just need to…" He stopped for a second. "Very well. We'll do it your way. Perhaps it's for the best."

_At least the Mythic Dawn won't catch us standing around arguing. _"Okay. I'll try not to stuff it up. Ready when you are."

"Listen. I may not survive this-"

"Likewise," Templar interrupted.

"But if I don't, you must. Get the book, get the Amulet. The stakes are high." _Strange, to be reminded of your mortality, but also how much your own small life can change things._

_If you say, "You leave me little choice," go to Block 3._

_If you say, "I understand. We'll do it – together," go to Block 4 (which sounds a bit soap-opera-ish to me)._

_If you say, "Don't worry, I never fail," like the confident bastard that you are, go to Block 5._

---

3

"I haven't got much of a choice either way, have I." _That's the funny thing with destinies. 'Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet. You too, shall serve Tamriel in your own way…' It wasn't much to go on, but at least it provided some encouragement. 'Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness…'_

"None of us do. Some things just – just have to be done," Baurus answered, seeming to remember something from his own past. Templar realised that he didn't actually know anything about the man. "I'll be watching from the upstairs walkway. Good luck."

"You too." Templar watched Baurus disappear up the narrow stairway, quietly pushing open the door to the upstairs balcony. He checked that his sword was ready to be drawn just in case, made sure Gwinas' note was in his hand, and strapped his shield onto his back. _No need to look too suspicious. _The metal door before him swung open noiselessly, cool to the touch.

_Go to Block 9._

---

4

"I think we both know what the consequences are, so let's just get the book. We go in together, we come out together. Deal?" _Preferably leaving some dead cultists behind us. Maybe everything will go to plan, and there won't be any bloodshed… but probably not._

"Deal…" Baurus thought for a moment. "I remember something that a friend said once. About destinies and things. 'We're all puppets, even me – it's just that some of us can see the strings.' Makes you think, doesn't it." He turned, and began making his way up the stairs to the left.

_Somewhat unpleasant, but probably true. 'But what path can be avoided whose end is fixed by the Gods?' _"Well, that's nice and profound. Good luck, anyway," Templar called out.

"Hopefully luck won't be needed," came the echoing reply.

Templar adjusted his sword belt, sliding the blade in and out experimentally, and strapped his shield to his back. He opened the metal door before him with a soft click, Gwinas' note grasped between cold fingers.

_Go to Block 9._

---

5

"Don't worry. I haven't failed yet," Templar replied optimistically. _That is, strictly speaking, not true. It's just that luck has always managed to pull me through._

Baurus gave a little half-smile. "I wish I could share your confidence."

"It's only a few Mythic Dawn. Maybe three at the most. What is there to worry about?"

"This assassin we're meeting is responsible for inducting new members – he's hardly going to be a pushover. Besides, it only takes one stray arrow, one slow parry to end a life. Hopefully it won't come to that."

"The Emperor said I would be remembered for something," Templar said softly. _And he also said there would be blood and death before my journey's end._

The Blade shook his head, and began walking up the stairs. "Isn't everyone?"

Templar made sure his weapons were close and took his shield off his arm, putting it on his back. _What a great thing to say before a battle._ The metal door to the meeting room was moist to the touch; he opened it quietly, Gwinas' note in hand.

_Go to Block 9._

---

2

"Alright. I'll cover you. Everyone needs some good backup."

"Good. There's an upstairs gallery from where you can observe the meeting. But listen… I may not survive this-" Baurus began.

"Oh, come on. It's only a few deranged cultists." _Who've almost decimated the entire Imperial bloodline, but that's beside the point._

"-but if I don't, you must. The book could be vital in locating the Amulet."

"Yeah, well. I'm pretty sure I know the stakes." _I've probably said this before, but isn't it strange where life takes you. _

"If I don't make it, look for…" The Blade paused. "Never mind. Maybe later. Ready to go?"

_If you say, "I can't really say no," go to Block 6._

_If you say, "Of course. We'll do it – together," go to Block 7 (which sounds a bit corny to me)._

_If you say, "Don't worry, I never fail," like the confident bastard that you are, go to Block 8._

---

6

"I haven't got much of a choice either way, have I." _That's the funny thing with destinies. 'Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet. You too, shall serve Tamriel in your own way…' It wasn't much to go on, but at least it provided some encouragement. 'Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness…'_

"None of us do. Some things just – just have to be done," Baurus answered, seeming to remember something from his own past. Templar realised that he didn't actually know anything about the man. "You should be able to see me from the upstairs walkway – and I'm sure you can figure out when – if – I need your help. Good luck."

"You too." Templar watched Baurus quietly open the thick metal door and disappear into the dark meeting place. He began making his own way up the narrow stairway to the upper level, checking that his sword and shield were ready. He thought about using his bow, but decided that the fight would be too cramped for it to be much help._ Hopefully it won't come to that._ At the top there was a second door; it swung open noiselessly, cool to the touch.

_Go to Block 10._

---

7

"I think we both know what the consequences are, so let's just get the book. The two of us make a great team. Right?" Templar realised he didn't actually know anything about Baurus, not really.

"Right…" Baurus thought for a moment. "I remember something that a friend said once. About destinies and things. 'We're all puppets, even me – it's just that some of us can see the strings.' Makes you think, doesn't it." He turned, opened the door and slipped through into the meeting room.

_Somewhat unpleasant, but probably true. 'But what path can be avoided whose end is fixed by the Gods?' _"Well, that's nice and profound. Good luck, anyway," Templar called out.

"Hopefully luck won't be needed," came the echoing reply.

Templar adjusted his sword belt, sliding the blade in and out experimentally, and made sure his shield was strapped on firmly. He trudged up the stairway, almost slipping on the moist stone, and saw that there was another doorway to the right at the top. It opened with a slight squeak, revealing a dark walkway.

_Go to Block 10._

---

8

"Of course. Don't worry – I haven't failed yet," Templar replied optimistically. _That is, strictly speaking, not true. It's just that luck has always managed to pull me through._

Baurus gave a little half-smile. "I wish I could share your confidence."

"It's only a few Mythic Dawn. Maybe three at the most. What is there to worry about?"

"This assassin we're meeting is responsible for inducting new members – he's hardly going to be a pushover. Besides, it only takes one stray arrow, one slow parry to end a life."

"The Emperor I said would be remembered for something," Templar said softly. _And he also said there would be blood and death before my journey's end._

The Blade shook his head, pushed open the meeting room door. "In the end, everything fades from memory."

_What a nice thing to say. _Templar made sure his weapons were close and adjusted his shield. The fight – if there was one – would be a bit too up-close-and-personal for his bow. He began making his way up the stairs, avoiding any fiendishly slippery puddles of water. There was a door to the right at the top, and he slipped through quietly.

_Go to Block 10._

---

9

The room was dark. High stone walls towered into the gloom on all sides, thick buttresses in each corner. It seemed drier than most of the other chambers, apart from a deep thirty-centimetre slit that divided the floor into two, some sort of inconveniently-placed drainage channel. High up to his left was a thin walkway that crossed the room, a gate at either end, cobwebs draped from its underside. Templar fancied he could a dark shape crouching in one of the alcoves. Another narrow stairway on the opposite side of the room connected the walkway with the ground.

Before him was a small table, with two stools arranged on opposite sides. A dribbly yellow candle sat on one edge, providing a small amount of light, indicating that someone had been there not too long ago. Templar noticed that there was another arched doorway in the left wall, under the walkway; he decided to take the seat that faced it, preferring to keep both entrances in view.

He stepped over to the chair quietly and sat down, armour clinking softly. The candle flickered. He put the note on the table and waited. The only sound was the faint dripping of water and his own muted breathing, and…

Footsteps. Booted feet on stone, coming closer.

_Well, that was good timing._

One of his eyebrows itched, but he didn't want to take his helmet off to scratch it. Or maybe that was for the best. They would trust him more if his face was visible.

Templar took off his helmet and carefully laid it down on the ground beside him, savouring the flow of air across his cheeks. Footsteps, coming closer.

Then the door swung open.

An armoured figure entered. It wore the same armour as the assassins Templar had encountered – silver-and-black plate mail over a hooded blood-red cloak. Heavy rounded shoulderpads and a segmented steel breastplate were covered in jagged, engraved patterns that looked like dark and gaping mouths. Spikes emerged at improbable angles from the tightly-fitting greaves and armguards, while an ebony kilt, fastened with the carving of a screaming man, protected the waist. Templar noticed that it wore a gigantic two-handed sword across its back.

It walked to the other stool and sat down slowly. The door swung shut behind it with an ominous _click_. Perhaps strangest of all was the helmet – the assassin wore a dull metal mask that matched the contours of its face, lips and cheeks and eyes, that made it look strangely… human. Emotionless, but human.

It stared at him for a moment. The candle almost went out for a second before the light returned, reflecting off the thing's metal face.

"So, human. You wish to join the Mythic Dawn."

---

"So that's how the Council works. They're charged with governing alongside the Emperor – High Chancellor Ocato's been the driving force of day-to-day happenings in the Empire for nigh on fifteen years now – and operating in regency should the Emperor fail in his duties. The Council has full legislative authority, but to counter that you will have the power of veto. Now, tell me whom the Council is made up of."

"Elected representatives from various Imperial provinces, and aristocracy from major families and organisations. The Closed Council is made up of a representative from each province and some individuals appointed by the Emperor to look after elements such as the military." Martin sighed. "Do I really have to know about all of this, Jauffre? It means nothing until the Oblivion crisis has blown over. No one knows that I'm Emperor yet."

"It means more now than ever, as the Elder Council are currently responsible for running all of Tamriel," Jauffre replied irritably. "And besides, we can't just sit here and do nothing, twiddling our thumbs until Templar and Baurus find the Amulet of Kings. Once we've finished with this little history lesson I've got to get you fitted for some armour, and then the guard has to be reorganised now than Renault and Glenroy are gone-"

They were sitting in what the Blades called the War Room, and what Captain Steffan called the 'Nexus of Foreign Operations' when he was in a commanding mood. Chairs were arranged along the lacquered wooden walls, underneath hanging brass lanterns, and in the centre of the room was a large round table, upon which was painted an intricate map of the world. The sprawling mass of Tamriel was in the centre, the Summerset Isles to the southwest, and arranged around it were the other known continents – Akavir, Atmora, and sunken Yokuda, bounded by the Eltheric Oceans. Metal men of various forms and coloured bits of paper were arranged around the table, and would be moved around at the end of each day. Martin noticed a worrying concentration of them around Akavir and northern Tamriel, a sad sign of the times. As they talked, one of the Blades walked in and left a piece of paper on the side, some new bit of intelligence that had come in.

"-and we have to keep looking for some weaknesses in the Oblivion Gates, as it would save us a whole lot of trouble if we could just close them without mounting a full-on invasion for these Sigil Stones."

Martin sighed again. "Shouldn't you know all of this already? You're the grandmaster of the Blades, and one of my father's closest friends."

"I've seen a few things in my time, dear boy, but I wasn't exactly prepared for this. No one was. Perhaps the Emperor knew, but sometimes you can't change the future. Some things... are set in stone, no matter what we do." The old priest stood up, joints cracking. "I'm off to see Ferrum about that armour, if anyone needs me. You just... sit there and act like an Emperor."

"Oh, sure," Martin answered, chuckling and then coughing as something caught in his throat. Jauffre left, sliding the paper screen door shut behind him. He looked at the book before him: 'Last Argument of Kings: A Guide to Government in the Imperial Provinces.' It was utterly riveting, filled as it was with family trees, historical tables and unimaginative language. It was part of a series, too – he was looking forward to 'Before They Are Hanged: A Guide to Imperial Law' and 'The Blade Itself: A Guide to Tamrielic Military.'

"Okay. Time to put this away before you throw it into the fire," the priest said to himself. He picked up the heavy tome and exited the room, turning left down the hallway. At the end was a curving set of steps, down to the subterranean sections of Cloud Ruler. The temple was bigger than it first appeared, as more than half was located underground, in a warren of tunnels and excavated chambers. He still got lost every now and then.

The last few days had been busy, in a pleasantly domestic way. Steffan and Jauffre had been trying to turn him into a ruler, and he was still getting through his supply of Oblivion-related literature. He'd joined into one of the Blades' sparring sessions and found that he was terrible with a sword. At least none of them had hit him very hard, for fear of injuring their new ruler. Belisarius had promised to teach him to fight 'properly' and in return, Martin was going to teach him a few rudimentary spells which the Blades' resident mage hadn't got onto yet. Famously, Jena had kissed Baragon behind the bathhouse for a dare, the first time she'd ever done something remotely romantic. A new member had been inducted-

_The sky was bright and blue, which seemed fitting, somehow. The man was Argonian, and was attired in full ceremonial armour, gilded filigree on form-fitting iron. Martin's father had selected him to become part of the Blades due to exceptional bravery in a time of need, a great honour. But because of the – assassinations, it had been delayed._

_The recruit stepped forward, mottled skin glowing, and knelt. Jauffre stood on the steps before the great hall, sword in hand. The Blades stood in ranks on either side, a kind of wall of nobility. _

"_Will you choose to honour these oaths until the end of your days?"_

"_Yes. I will."_

"_Then rise, Private Fortis, and welcome to our Order." Jauffre smiled at some private joke. "You'll like it here."_

-into the order. He reached the bottom suddenly, feet thudding into the stone floor. The tunnel was fairly wide, and was lit regularly by wall-mounted lanterns.

The library was first on the left (there was a small alchemy lab across the hall, but he'd discovered that the Blades brewed most of their potions in warmer climates, where plants actually grew), and the Akaviri architecture gave the place a sort of mystical air. Wooden crossbeams arched above his head, supporting the roof and enormous weight of rock above it. The stone walls were covered in paper screens. Shelves stretched left and right, piled high, but there weren't really that many books in total – there was only so much you could fit in a small underground fortress.

Martin walked over to the shelf he'd taken the book from and slotted it back in between its neighbours. Cyrus was there too, flicking through a slim volume.

"Hail, Emperor!" he said loudly. Then, less formally: "Hey Martin."

"A bit of light reading?" He'd given up trying to stop them hailing him all the time.

"Yes. Research, actually."

Martin turned to leave, but then realised he felt like talking. "So, Cyrus. I never asked before, but do you have a family back home?" _Wherever that is._

The Blade smiled. "Yes. I do."

"Brothers or sisters?"

"One sister."

"Older or younger?"

"Older. By two years. Although..."

"Although what?" Martin asked.

"Although she's not older than me anymore. Her name was Lyra. She's no longer older than me because she died seven years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I hate it when people say that. I mean, what could they have done about it?"

"Sorry."

"She was killed when she fell of her horse," Cyrus continued. His eyes became distant. "It was stormy, raining. Shouldn't have been out there. Doesn't matter now, of course."

"Were you close?"

"Sure we were," Cyrus said, perking up a bit, returning from his memories. "She even married my best friend, a Legion guy named Avarran."

"What about your parents?"

"They divorced when Lyra and I were in our teens. My mother was a schoolteacher. History. A smart and quiet woman. My dad-"

Martin waited. Cyrus stared off into space for a moment. "He was in the Morrowind navy, met my mum while out here on exercises. He was on his way up through the ranks and always wanting to go higher. Ambitious. He was also intelligent, really intelligent, but conceited about it – he looked down on anyone who didn't know as much as he did, talked down to them, including my mother." He took a deep breath. "Which was why they split in the end. She won't see him now."

"Do you keep in touch with her?" _I can't imagine all of these men and women having families, up here in the lonely mountains, every one of them experts in killing and deception. And protection, and justice. They're still real people like everyone else, except with more weapons than usual._

_On Templar's little list, Cyrus was 'Dark skin. Can be annoying. Likes birds, chocolate and the colour black. Wants to get a posting in Summerset to see his mother. Dislikes the cold.' But there's so much more._

Cyrus laughed. "Of course I do! It's just that... she doesn't want my father to know where she is, and I'm busy up here, so I only see here rarely." He looked at the ceiling. The lanterns were getting dim, oil running low. "Hey, we'd better get down to dinner."

"I was just about to say so myself," Martin answered, but then he frowned. "What about your father? Do you ever see him?"

"No," Cyrus said firmly. "We never really got along. In fact, I can honestly say I don't ever want to see him again."

There was silence for a while, as they began walking back up to the main hall. "Martin – just so you know... We're behind you all the way. As Emperor, I mean. Every one of us."

Martin thought he had to blink back a tear, but it could have just been the dry air. "Thank you. That means a lot. Probably more than you know."

---

"So, human. You wish to join the Mythic Dawn," the Sponsor rasped, mask dancing in the candlelight.

"Yes."

"Directness. That is good." The man's voice was soft but harsh, and Templar thought he could detect a distinct elfin tone. Eerily, the metal mask seemed to move and flow in the candlelight. "As you may have guessed, I am the Sponsor. Is there a reason you are wearing such… protection?"

"The sewers can be dangerous places," Templar replied, impressed with how calm he sounded. _Smooth._

"Indeed. Rats and goblins are the least of our – your worries." He paused. "Do you have the note?"

"Here." Templar laid it on the table between them, the little scrap of paper belying its importance.

"Good. To have come this far is… good." Another pause. Longer, this time. "If I asked for your name, what would you say?"

_I don't like the way this is headed. _He couldn't help noticing that Baurus was gesturing at him, holding up two fingers, and tried to keep his gaze trained on the assassin. _Two fingers for two more enemies. _"I would say that you don't need to know."

"Ha. An interesting answer. Caution is also good. The Dawn has made many enemies on our path to Paradise."

"Misguided enemies."

"That is what we believe. But sometimes it is good to have enemies. Now… I would ask you to display your devotion to us. To our cause."

"I'm sitting here before you. Isn't that enough?" Templar asked. _Uh-oh._

"There are many who seek the Dawn for no more than their own curiosity; we have no need of those in our order. True belief is necessary."

"Uh…" Templar noticed that Baurus was desperately mouthing something at him. _Pa… Pala… Palace? Palace! _"Palace." _Hub? Hud? Hut. _"Hut." _Something underground. Cay. Cay-ve. _"Cave."_I have lef- left all… _"I will leave all the fog worlds of conception behind." _New-mansha? Nu-manteea? What – I should shout the next bit? _"Nu-mantia! Liberty! Rejoice in the promise of Paradise!" _Gods, that was difficult. _He hoped he hadn't sounded too jerky. More than that, he hoped it was the right thing to say.

The Sponsor leaned back. "Very good… acolyte. I shall give you the fourth book. For that is what we are here for, is it not?"

_I hope that's a rhetorical question,_ Templar thought. It probably was, as the Sponsor reached under his cloak and pulled out a small black book. This one looked new, the leather cover still shiny, but with a few curious stains that appeared to be blood. _It's probably just cranberry juice. Warm, dark, salty cranberry juice._

Templar took it from his outstretched hand, not too quickly. "Study it well, and – who knows? You may soon join our ranks, and earn your place in Camoran's Paradise." The assassin stood up slowly.

"Thank you."

"Starlight is your mantle; wear it to see by and add your light to Paradise. Tell me – what is your name?" the Sponsor asked, halfway to the door.

"Gwinas," Templar replied quickly. "Gwinas…" _Shit. What was his last name?_

"Gwinas Veltan? Of Morrowind?"

"Yes." _Very, very thin ice here._

"That's interesting." For once, the Sponsor did sound interested, and that made Templar feel slightly afraid. "I thought your name was Gwinas Aphrael."

Templar paused for a second, stopping in his tracks.

"Gwinas Aphrael, of Valenwood. Yes. That was it." The Mythic Dawn agent hissed softly.

"Uhh…" Templar decided that there was no way to get out of this one. "Shit."

"I wonder what you are here for, if you are not Gwinas Aphrael," said the assassin, drawing his sword. But not quite ready to use it yet.

"Any – any chance we could… could start over?" Templar smiled desperately, hoping it wouldn't be the last smile of his life. The Sponsor ignored him, and began circling slowly. Like a shark.

Baurus stood up on the shadowy walkway and drew his sword. "My name is Baurus. I am of the Emperor's Blades, and we are here to reclaim the Amulet of Kings," he called out menacingly. _Well, not much chance of a peaceful resolution now._

The Sponsor hissed again, and turned to face the Blade. "Then you _SHALL NOT HAVE IT!_" The shout echoed from the walls. Templar imagined it reverberating through the sewer tunnels, through water and stone, disturbing the rats and goblins and mudcrabs from their monotonous lives. "My name is Raven Camoran, and I am here to bring about the end of the world. Agents!"

The Sponsor turned back to face Templar, who drew his own weapon. The agent's broadsword looked fearsomely large compared to his own steel longsword, the black metal of its blade seeming to absorb the light. He heard a dull clunk as a gate opened somewhere, and two more agents rushed out onto the walkway towards Baurus' hiding spot at the other end.

The Sponsor moved this way and that, light on his feet, and his mask seemed to snarl. Templar was too stunned with the turn of events to move much, so he just stood there and caught his breath, his longsword up in a defensive posture – or what he though was a defensive posture. Hopefully the fact that he'd taught himself to use a sword while fighting rats underneath a prison made him slightly unpredictable in battle. _Wait. Wasn't Mankar Camoran the leader of the Dawn? Is this his _son_ or something? Killing him would be a big blow. _

_Baurus said backup will arrive in five minutes. Hopefully we can survive until then._

"No more tricks, imposter?"

"No tricks."

The first sounds of fighting came from upstairs. A sudden flash of sparks lit up the darkness for a second.

"Then let us begin, if you are keen to see Oblivion."

Raven came on fast and hard, herding Templar towards the nearest corner, jabbing and chopping quicker than seemed possible with the gigantic claymore. Templar stumbled back, short of breath, looking for an opening but not finding one. He began to wish he hadn't put away his shield.

Templar made a quick cut of his own that was effortlessly blocked. Then the claymore came whistling back at his chest, and he threw up his own blade in defence, jarring his hand. Suddenly the assassin charged him, a shoulderpad slamming into Templar's chest and knocking his breath out, pressing him back. He tried to dodge away from the next blow but lurched on a slippery stone, and the claymore lashed out and caught him across the arm. 'Gah!' squawked Templar, staggering against a wall, but the armour held. Just. _Steel is just paper if you hit it hard enough. And I seem to be thoroughly outclassed._

The Sponsor danced sideways and glanced over his shoulder. Something was happening up there, but a doorway blocked his view. Someone shouted briefly: "_No – Templar – need!" _but he couldn't quite stood and watched the assassin, breathing hard. The sword was a big one and the b—stard used it well; the armour was good, too. Gave him quite an advantage. He was quick, no doubt. Quicker than Templar, now, winded and with a faintly aching arm, who wasn't exactly the quickest to begin with. _Hey, why not ask him to go out to dinner if you're going to give him that many compliments._

He edged back, out of the corner and into a space with more room. A nice wide space, where you could get a decent swing. Then Templar sprang forward, lifting the sword above his head with both hands. The Sponsor decided to have a slash of his own while Templar was exposed – but not quite quick enough. The steel blade tore a chunk from the assassin's armour, sending sparks flying. The impact nearly ripped the sword from Templar's hands, sent him flailing sideways. _But at least it's worse for him. _It wasn't exactly a killing blow, but it was better than nothing.

Then Templar head a faint humming in the air, saw a faint blue glow – and dived to the side. A sizzling bolt of electricity cracked through the air where he'd been standing a second before, tearing chunks from the wall as it dissipated. He slid along the ground for a couple of metres, armour squealing, before stumbling to his feet and shooting off a bolt of his own. The Sponsor reached out a gauntleted hand and the lightning seemed to _flow _into it, the energy being absorbed somehow. "Shit," Templar muttered again. He noticed his shield had broken loose during his slide, skittering across the floor like a turtleshell.

They moved at the same time. The two blades clanged together, but Raven's grip was stronger, and Templar's sword was dashed aside. He managed to raise it again just in time to block another overhead cut, half-falling to his knees to absorb to force-

He couldn't hear fighting anymore from upstairs – hopefully that didn't mean Baurus was dead – and his gaze rose up to the walkway. Baurus and one of the agents had disappeared into one of the tunnels, but it was too thin to allow more than one to fight at a time. So the second agent was standing on the bridge, looking at him, with a bow drawn.

Templar had a millisecond to process what that image meant for his immediate future before something _twanged_ and a black spike was screaming through the air towards him. _Enemy – bow – arrow_

By then it was too late. He saw the arrow thwack into his shoulderpad, puncture the metal, pierce him through the back of his shoulder, and when he looked down he could see the feathers sticking out of his armour. It made his arm numb. Dark blood leaked out, dripping through the steel plate. He hissed to himself, gritting his teeth, looking back up at Camoran's son. Then he screamed.

And released.

Fire flew from his hands, bathing the world in orange pain, lunging through the air towards the Sponsor's neck. Towards his face. Snakes of death, pretty orange venomous things, that hissed and crackled and liked nothing better to turn the Mythic Dawn to ash.

_And the city burns. Not because of me, but because of those who desire nothing more than destruction. People burn, through selfishness and hate... and necessity. _

Templar stopped himself before he drained completely. The heat was unbearable and for a moment it seemed the fire would get through, but a shield of yellow light flashed into existence around the Dawn agent, disappearing as the flames faded out of existence, sizzling on the damp stone. The bowman was doubled over, coughing furiously. He noticed that he still had an arrow sticking through his shoulder, and fell to the ground.

Distantly, he heard the Sponsor walking towards him, saw the armoured figure bend over him and feel around his clothes, plucking the fourth book from his front pocket. The agent obviously decided that killing him was more trouble than it was worth, and began walking away. Templar crawled after him

"No! Need-" Baurus yelled. The Mythic Dawn agent with the bow tumbled from the bridge and crashed to the floor below in a mess of tangled limbs and lay there, groaning softly. The Blade rushed down the stairs and winced as he saw Templar's shoulder.

"That wasn't meant to happen. You alright?"

He took a moment to register the question. "No." He grimaced. "He has the book. Raven. Has the book."

"Damn. Wait here. I'll get it."

"Okay – ahh…" Templar found the magicka potion on his belt and uncorked it, drinking the contents in one gulp, throwing the bottle to the side. It tasted strangely sweet, which hopefully didn't mean it had gone off. But soon he felt the strength returning, his mind becoming more alert.

Then he raised a hand and azure clouds flooded from his palm, spiralling around his arm and darting into his shoulder. He thought of clear, clean water, which somehow made the magic flow faster. After a couple of seconds the pain felt… a bit better, and he thought the blood had stopped flowing. _I should probably get the arrow out, but no time for that._

He got to his feet and ran.

Through the door, past the next room, into a small tunnel and out into the wide canal they'd passed through before. He thought he saw a shadowy figure or two jogging into the gloom at the far end and followed as quickly as he could.

The figure was armoured, with what looked like… _Is that Raven? Where the hell is Baurus?_ Templar thought he could see a red robe, and sped up, trying to stay quiet. There was the pile of rubble he'd climbed over. _Oh, damn, I left my helmet in the meeting room._

It definitely wasn't Baurus, that was for sure. He was only twenty metres away now, and Templar thought he could see the figure holding a slim black book…

He sprinted. The figure turned, and Templar saw the familiar metal mask of Raven Camoran glare back at him. His feet pounded across the stone. Muddy water and stone walls streamed past on either side-

_BANG!_

Pain lanced through the back of his skull, stars filled his vision. He slumped to the ground for the second time in five minutes, reeling from a blow to the back of the head, no, some sort of loud concussion. Raven was pointing-

"_Aaaaffteeerr hiiimmm!" _Templar heard Baurus' voice right next to his ear, filling the air, saw an outstretched arm holding a silver katana. He turned over slowly, and saw the blurry outline of the Sponsor begin running along the walkway, taking the book… the book… the-

"_Blaaadesss! Seeeaalll thee exxiitts!"_

"_Lieutenant Belacqua! It's Camoran!"_

Templar raised an arm, and blinked to clear his rapidly-darkening vision. _The book. Need it, need it for – everyone… _He stretched out and… pulled. The world before him distorted like a fishbowl, and a sound like the rushing of air filled his ears. He pulled, _reaching_ out for the collection of dusty pages that would contain…

The book flew from the assassin's hand and spun through the air towards Templar, bouncing a few times before coming to rest on the damp ground. He distantly saw Raven turn for a second, face expressionless, before running off. Booted feet slammed down past his head, chasing, following, hunting.

Take a bow.

Applause.

Curtains.

Darkness…

_Go to the main story (right at the end)._

---

10

The room was dark. High stone walls towered into the gloom on all sides, thick buttresses in each corner. It seemed drier than most of the other chambers, apart from a deep thirty-centimetre slit that divided the floor below into two, some sort of inconveniently-placed drainage channel.

He found himself standing on a thin walkway that arched across the room, a metal gate at the far end. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling, brushing against his face. At each end of the walkway was a small alcove, nice and dark. _Convenient._ Another narrow stairway on the opposite side of the room connected the walkway with the ground.

Below him to his right he could see a small table, with two stools arranged on opposite sides. On one edge sat a dribbly yellow candle, which was, somewhat ominously, lit. Templar noticed that there was another arched doorway in the left wall, under the walkway, and made a mental note to keep it in mind. Baurus had already sat down at one of the stools, waiting there quietly. On first glance he appeared quite relaxed, but Templar could see that he was staring into the distance. _Thinking about what?_

Templar decided to stay where he was, and extinguished his torch. He closed the door firmly behind him and crouched down with his back to it, enveloped in shadows. Baurus nodded at him, and Templar gave a brief thumbs up. The only sound was the faint dripping of water and his own muted breathing, and…

Footsteps. Booted feet on stone, coming closer. _Well, that was good timing._

Something on the back of his neck, itched, but it was a bit late now to do anything about it. He gritted his teeth and contented himself by checking that all the doors were visible. _Door next to the table, check. Door to the left, check. Gate across the walkway, check. Door behind me… well, I'll know if someone's there._

Then a door swung open.

An armoured figure entered. It wore the same armour as the assassins Templar had encountered – silver-and-black plate mail over a hooded blood-red cloak. Heavy rounded shoulderpads and a segmented steel breastplate were covered in jagged, engraved patterns that looked like dark and gaping mouths. Spikes emerged at improbable angles from the tightly-fitting greaves and armguards, while an ebony kilt, fastened with the carving of a screaming man, protected the waist. Templar noticed that it wore a gigantic two-handed sword across its back.

The thing surveyed the room briefly, gazing into each dark, damp corner. Then Templar saw its helmet, which was perhaps strangest of all – the assassin wore a dull metal mask that matched the contours of its face, lips and cheeks and eyes, that made it look strangely… human. Emotionless, but human.

Templar held his breath as its eyes passed over his hiding spot, looking right _at him _before turning back to Baurus. The candle on the table flickered for a moment, almost going out before flaring up with renewed vigour. Templar hoped his armour wasn't reflective enough to reveal his hiding place.

The figure sat with a soft clink. There was an interminable pause, before it spoke in a harsh, rasping voice.

"So, human. You wish to join the Mythic Dawn."

---

"So that's how the Council works. They're charged with governing alongside the Emperor – High Chancellor Ocato's been the driving force of day-to-day happenings in the Empire for nigh on fifteen years now – and operating in regency should the Emperor fail in his duties. The Council has full legislative authority, but to counter that you will have the power of veto. Now, tell me whom the Council is made up of."

"Elected representatives from various Imperial provinces, and aristocracy from major families and organisations. The Closed Council is made up of a representative from each province and some individuals appointed by the Emperor to look after elements such as the military." Martin sighed. "Do I really have to know about all of this, Jauffre? It means nothing until the Oblivion crisis has blown over. No one knows that I'm Emperor yet."

"It means more now than ever, as the Elder Council are currently responsible for running all of Tamriel," Jauffre replied irritably. "And besides, we can't just sit here and do nothing, twiddling our thumbs until Templar and Baurus find the Amulet of Kings. Once we've finished with this little history lesson I've got to get you fitted for some armour, and then the guard has to be reorganised now than Renault and Glenroy are gone-"

They were sitting in what the Blades called the War Room, and what Captain Steffan called the 'Nexus of Foreign Operations' when he was in a commanding mood. Chairs were arranged along the lacquered wooden walls, underneath hanging brass lanterns, and in the centre of the room was a large round table, upon which was painted an intricate map of the world. The sprawling mass of Tamriel was in the centre, the Summerset Isles to the southwest, and arranged around it were the other known continents – Akavir, Atmora, and sunken Yokuda, bounded by the Eltheric Oceans. Metal men of various forms and coloured bits of paper were arranged around the table, and would be moved around at the end of each day. Martin noticed a worrying concentration of them around Akavir and northern Tamriel, a sad sign of the times. As they talked, one of the Blades walked in and left a piece of paper on the side, some new bit of intelligence that had come in.

"-and we have to keep looking for some weaknesses in the Oblivion Gates, as it would save us a whole lot of trouble if we could just close them without mounting a full-on invasion for these Sigil Stones."

Martin sighed again. "Shouldn't you know all of this already? You're the grandmaster of the Blades, and one of my father's closest friends."

"I've seen a few things in my time, dear boy, but I wasn't exactly prepared for this. No one was. Perhaps the Emperor knew, but sometimes you can't change the future. Some things... are set in stone, no matter what we do." The old priest stood up, joints cracking. "I'm off to see Ferrum about that armour, if anyone needs me. You just... sit there and act like an Emperor."

"Oh, sure," Martin answered, chuckling and then coughing as something caught in his throat. Jauffre left, sliding the paper screen door shut behind him. He looked at the book before him: 'Last Argument of Kings: A Guide to Government in the Imperial Provinces.' It was utterly riveting, filled as it was with family trees, historical tables and unimaginative language. It was part of a series, too – he was looking forward to 'Before They Are Hanged: A Guide to Imperial Law' and 'The Blade Itself: A Guide to Tamrielic Military.'

"Okay. Time to put this away before you throw it into the fire," the priest said to himself. He picked up the heavy tome and exited the room, turning left down the hallway. At the end was a curving set of steps, down to the subterranean sections of Cloud Ruler. The temple was bigger than it first appeared, as more than half was located underground, in a warren of tunnels and excavated chambers. He still got lost every now and then.

The last few days had been busy, in a pleasantly domestic way. Steffan and Jauffre had been trying to turn him into a ruler, and he was still getting through his supply of Oblivion-related literature. He'd joined into one of the Blades' sparring sessions and found that he was terrible with a sword. At least none of them had hit him very hard, for fear of injuring their new ruler. Belisarius had promised to teach him to fight 'properly' and in return, Martin was going to teach him a few rudimentary spells which the Blades' resident mage hadn't got onto yet. Famously, Jena had kissed Baragon behind the bathhouse for a dare, the first time she'd ever done something remotely romantic. A new member had been inducted-

_The sky was bright and blue, which seemed fitting, somehow. The man was Argonian, and was attired in full ceremonial armour, gilded filigree on form-fitting iron. Martin's father had selected him to become part of the Blades due to exceptional bravery in a time of need, a great honour. But because of the – assassinations, it had been delayed._

_The recruit stepped forward, mottled skin glowing, and knelt. Jauffre stood on the steps before the great hall, sword in hand. The Blades stood in ranks on either side, a kind of wall of nobility. _

"_Will you choose to honour these oaths until the end of your days?"_

"_Yes. I will."_

"_Then rise, Private Fortis, and welcome to our Order." Jauffre smiled at some private joke. "You'll like it here."_

-into the order. He reached the bottom suddenly, feet thudding into the stone floor. The tunnel was fairly wide, and was lit regularly by wall-mounted lanterns.

The library was first on the left (there was a small alchemy lab across the hall, but he'd discovered that the Blades brewed most of their potions in warmer climates, where plants actually grew), and the Akaviri architecture gave the place a sort of mystical air. Wooden crossbeams arched above his head, supporting the roof and enormous weight of rock above it. The stone walls were covered in paper screens. Shelves stretched left and right, piled high, but there weren't really that many books in total – there was only so much you could fit in a small underground fortress.

Martin walked over to the shelf he'd taken the book from and slotted it back in between its neighbours. Cyrus was there too, flicking through a slim volume.

"Hail, Emperor!" he said loudly. Then, less formally: "Hey Martin."

"A bit of light reading?" He'd given up trying to stop them hailing him all the time.

"Yes. Research, actually."

Martin turned to leave, but then realised he felt like talking. "So, Cyrus. I never asked before, but do you have a family back home?" _Wherever that is._

The Blade smiled. "Yes. I do."

"Brothers or sisters?"

"One sister."

"Older or younger?"

"Older. By two years. Although..."

"Although what?" Martin asked.

"Although she's not older than me anymore. Her name was Lyra. She's no longer older than me because she died seven years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I hate it when people say that. I mean, what could they have done about it?"

"Sorry."

"She was killed when she fell of her horse," Cyrus continued. His eyes became distant. "It was stormy, raining. Shouldn't have been out there. Doesn't matter now, of course."

"Were you close?"

"Sure we were," Cyrus said, perking up a bit, returning from his memories. "She even married my best friend, a Legion guy named Avarran."

"What about your parents?"

"They divorced when Lyra and I were in our teens. My mother was a schoolteacher. History. A smart and quiet woman. My dad-"

Martin waited. Cyrus stared off into space for a moment. "He was in the Morrowind navy, met my mum while out here on exercises. He was on his way up through the ranks and always wanting to go higher. Ambitious. He was also intelligent, really intelligent, but conceited about it – he looked down on anyone who didn't know as much as he did, talked down to them, including my mother." He took a deep breath. "Which was why they split in the end. She won't see him now."

"Do you keep in touch with her?" _I can't imagine all of these men and women having families, up here in the lonely mountains, every one of them experts in killing and deception. And protection, and justice. They're still real people like everyone else, except with more weapons than usual._

_On Templar's little list, Cyrus was 'Dark skin. Can be annoying. Likes birds, chocolate and the colour black. Wants to get a posting in Summerset to see his mother. Dislikes the cold.' But there's so much more._

Cyrus laughed. "Of course I do! It's just that... she doesn't want my father to know where she is, and I'm busy up here, so I only see here rarely." He looked at the ceiling. The lanterns were getting dim, oil running low. "Hey, we'd better get down to dinner."

"I was just about to say so myself," Martin answered, but then he frowned. "What about your father? Do you ever see him?"

"No," Cyrus said firmly. "We never really got along. In fact, I can honestly say I don't ever want to see him again."

There was silence for a while, as they began walking back up to the main hall. "Martin – just so you know... We're behind you all the way. As Emperor, I mean. Every one of us."

Martin thought he had to blink back a tear, but it could have just been the dry air. "Thank you. That means a lot. Probably more than you know."

---

"So, human. You wish to join the Mythic Dawn," the Sponsor asked softly, the flickering candlelight seeming awfully inadequate for the dark chamber.

Baurus sat perfectly still, and replied a carefully neutral tone. "Yes. The path beckons to me. As you can see, I am… alone."

"You are eager," the Sponsor replied. Templar thought he could detect a distinct elfin accent coming out from behind the metal mask, somewhere in that harsh, rasping tone. The man's silhouette was unnerving from his position up on the walkway, a spiky apparition that flickered with dim candlelight.

"I am."

"The Dawn requires those with true belief. To see such affirmation at this early stage is… reassuring." The Sponsor did not sound reassured.

"Dagon will be my lord, and Camoran will be my master. That is all I wish." _I'm impressed, Baurus. I'd certainly be convinced._

The assassin paused for a second, as if considering something. Then it spoke again. "Do you have the note?"

"Yes." Templar peeked out and saw Baurus unfurl something and place it on the table. The Sponsor picked it up in gauntleted fingers.

"I see. I would suppose you… you have come for the book." _I would sincerely hope so. _"The fourth volume of our master's words."

"If that is what is needed to tread the Path of Dawn."

"It is." Another short silence. Armour rattled softly. "Tell me. From where do you hail?"

"Valenwood."

"You have come far, then. Far in-"

Templar suddenly realised that something was moving in the corner of his eye. He glanced over, and saw a spider stealthily creeping across the bridge towards him. A large, somewhat hairy spider. But that was, unfortunately, the least of his worries. Two armoured Mythic Dawn agents were standing by the gate at the other end of the walkway. He could see them through the bars, checking their weapons.

_But you don't see me, you don't see me…_He tried not to move, and hoped the shadows were dark enough. Templar held up two fingers and poked them around the corner, hoping Baurus would get the message.

Then one of them began easing the gate open slowly, coming towards him.

_Shit! _He held his breath.

"-and cautious too. The Dawn's enemies are always watching."

"Always," Baurus replied. "But Paradise is only for the worthy."

"And… you believe you are?" the Sponsor hissed suddenly. "Show me your faith. These words we are so_ avidly_ exchanging reveal nothing about our – your true nature."

Templar's peripherals where severely cut off by his stupid big helmet. Even so, he noticed that the spider was _right by his foot – oh gods, oh gods – _and the first Mythic Dawn agent was through the gate and peering down at the meeting below, not ten metres away. The second one stood not far behind, waiting patiently. Baurus was saying something loudly.

"-leave all the fog worlds of conception behind. Nu-mantia! Liberty! Rejoice in the promise of Paradise!"

_Wow. I'm glad he did the talking. Well, he has been trying to track the Dawn down for years, so he must know _something_ about them. _The spider had disappeared from view, which was somehow even more worrying.

The Sponsor stood up, and began circling the table slowly. Ominously. "Very good. You will find that my praise is… hard to come by, novitiate. I believe you are worthy for the next task. But tell me, from where did you travel, again? It… eludes me."

_Why does he have to talk with sinister pauses? He's scary enough as it is._

The Sponsor was behind Baurus now, and Templar noticed that his metal mask seemed to move and flow in the candlelight.

"Valenwood."

"Ah, yes. And your name?"

There was a pause.

An uncomfortably long pause.

_Dammit, Baurus, don't tell me you didn't read the name?!_

"No answer?" the Sponsor asked, in a mildly puzzled tone. _Just say something! Anything!_

"I believe the answer I was looking for was 'Gwinas Aphrael,'" said the Sponsor.

Then everything happened at once.

Baurus leapt backwards, knocking over his chair. The Sponsor snarled. The two Mythic Dawn agents moved out onto the bridge and drew their swords. Templar shrank back into his alcove, and slowly put a hand on his sword-hilt.

"I am a member of the Emperor's Blades, and I am here to retrieve the Amulet of Kings," Baurus said clearly. _I almost thought he was going to arrest them, for a second. A happy ending is probably out of the question now._

The Sponsor hissed again, and turned to face the Blade. "Then you _SHALL NOT HAVE IT!_" The shout echoed from the walls. Templar imagined it reverberating through the sewer tunnels, through water and stone, disturbing the rats and goblins and mudcrabs from their monotonous lives. "My name is Raven Camoran, and I am here to bring about the end of the world. Agents!"

_Didn't someone Camoran write the Commentaries? _Baurus drew his katana as the Sponsor rushed him, sword already swinging. Their blades clashed, the room ringing with the sound. Then they separated, watching each other. Templar noticed that the two assassins were about to rush down their stairs and help, so he stood up and hefted his own weapon.

"Over here, bastards!" he yelled. All three Mythic Dawn turned to face him for a moment. One of them broke off to deal with Templar, while the other continued towards Baurus. Besides, the bridge was only wide enough for one opponent at a time.

A black steel axe crashed into Templar's upraised shield, throwing sparks into the air as metal screeched across metal. Templar looked into his enemy's eyes for a brief moment before stepping backwards, ready for another blow. He thought he wouldn't be able to see through the helmet's visor, but he'd seen – a pair of brown eyes. Filled with… not murderous fury, as was the usual case. More like religious fervour.

Fervour or not, the man was trying to kill him.

_How long was it until backup arrives? Five minutes? Well, they must have spent at least three minutes talking. 120. 119. 118… _Baurus shouted something indistinct. "No – need – Templar!"

The axe arced towards his chest, edge singing as it cut through the air. He ducked to the side and slashed at the assassin's steel-clad leg, leaving a scratch but not much else. He had to jump backwards to avoid the next blow, getting a brief, dizzying glimpse of the floor below. Their blades clashed again, before Templar pushed forwards with his shield and forced the assassin back. He swung at the man's head, who blocked two-handed to absorb the impact.

_Crunch! _Templar looked down and saw that he'd crushed the spider underfoot, leaving a big glob of yellow goo. Templar waited for the next swing and parried it with his shield, following it with a quick stab to the chest. The assassin knocked the blow aside and the axe slid down his blade until it stopped at the hilt, locking their weapons together. The two of them strained desperately to get the other hand, trying to push forwards, but Templar realised he had only one hand to push with while the Mythic Dawn agent had two.

He got another glimpse at his eyes, and saw – triumph? _Well, at least he's human, then. Or she._

Templar stepped backwards quickly and the assassin stumbled forwards. He lashed out with his blade and his opponent only just managed to block the blow, the impact throwing him sideways.

_Never take an enemy lightly. When the time comes, strike with no backwards glances. By the gods, it's wonderfully easy to take your own advice. _He pressed the advantage, cutting and blocking, wincing as a riposte came dangerously close to slicing across his face, until-

"ARGH!" The assassin waved its arms wildly for a second before tumbling over the edge of the walkway, crashing to the floor below in a cacophony of dented armour and tangled limbs.

_Oh, good. He slipped on the spider. _

_That was… lucky._

Templar looked down and saw that Raven Camoran was still busy with Baurus, who had somehow managed to hold him at bay. They didn't seem to be fighting too energetically, instead circling and making the occasional lightning strike.

But where was the other one? He glanced around, until… There he was. Kneeling in the far corner with a bow and arrow, aiming at Baurus, waiting for a clear shot.

Templar decided to take advantage of the situation and pulled his own bow from his back, sheathing his sword. He checked the string briefly and took an arrow from his quiver, aiming at the crouching bowman. It was quite hard, wearing a shield on his arm at the same time.

He closed one eye, held his breath, and fired.

And missed.

The arrow bounced off the wall not twenty centimetres from the bowman's head, breaking in two. The agent whirled around, aimed, and shot. Much more accurately.

Templar swore, when really he should have been trying to get out of the way. "Oh, f—ck!"

He saw the arrow thwack into his shoulderpad, puncture the metal, pierce him through the back of his shoulder, and when he looked down he could see the feathers sticking out of his armour. It made his arm numb. Dark blood leaked out, dripping through the steel plate. He hissed to himself, gritting his teeth, looked behind him at towards Raven Camoran, and the fourth book. Then he screamed.

Templar staggered backwards, retreating out of sight. "ArghwihsPEDFSLM!"

There was the door behind him. He felt around with his good hand and pushed it open, stumbling through, falling to the ground. _Sh—t, that hurts. _He raised his arm and tried to think of clouds, summoning the magic.

It was harder than usual, as he would have preferred to think about the arrow stuck through his shoulder, and the rather large amount of blood that was pooling on the floor. Even so, blue streams of light began to form around his hand, swelling in size before diving into the wound.

After a few seconds, the pain started lessening. He quickly pulled his last magicka potion from his belt, unscrewed the lid and gulped it down. He flexed his injured shield arm experimentally, and found that he could move it, at least. _Which is pretty good, considering there's a sharp bit of wood in it._

He couldn't hear fighting from the other room any more, which hopefully meant Baurus wasn't dead. Templar quickly scrambled down the stairs and decided to burst in through one of the downstairs doors, just for a surprise. He reached for the handle

_BAM!_

and the door barged open, to reveal a rather smug-looking Mythic Dawn agent. Templar jumped backwards and then edged back a little more, stooping and panting harder than he needed to, letting his arm dangle as if it was useless, blood dripping from his limp fingers, blinking and wincing.

"That's it?" asked the bowman, drawing his sword. Hearing the voice was... odd, somehow.

But when he charged, Templar moved quickly enough. The steel sword leapt up to meet the black one, and the agent slashed again, his blade chopping deep into one of the stones of the wall with a mighty clang, sending chips of rock spinning. Then Templar caught one blow high on his shield, and the pain came back all over again. He countercut as he blinked the tears from his eyes, and the agent interposed his own blade and launched a fiery backslash. Templar parried the next cut to his head, grimacing as he realised that with one useless arm, there wasn't much chance of winning. The cultist began to throw more and more blows at his shield, and when Templar jerked away his foot went out from under him and he staggered to one knee. At once his opponent closed, a downcut screaming through the air. Panting from exertion, Templar jerked his sword up over his head just in time, and the sewers rang with the sound of screeching metal.

_Thunk._

"A – a – ah…"

An arrow flew over Templar's head and materialised in the assassin's neck. He keeled over slowly, dropping his sword, clutching at the feathered shaft with both hands as blood bubbled out of his neckguard.

Templar stayed where he was for a moment, crouching awkwardly, not wanting to get in the way of any more missiles. He couldn't feel his left arm anymore, probably not a good sign.

"Blades, forward! Seal the exits. Jena, Pelagius, you check upstairs!"

A woman's face appeared in the corner of his vision, encased in a well-worn Blades helm. He stared at it uncomprehendingly for a second.

"Well, Templar. Fancy seeing you here."

Templar squinted, trying to make her features come into focus. "Uhh… Caroline, is it? Lieutenant. Likes yellow and cats."

"Wrong. I like yellow and dogs. Anyway, no need to thank me. Are you alright?"

"No, frankly." He tried to smile, but soon gave up. Someone called down from above. "Clear up here!"

"Baurus is still in there," he continued. "And Raven Camoran. He has the book-"

_CRAAACKK! _White light bloomed in the air, growing brighter and brighter until he had to close his eyes. There was a sound like wood cracking and a pressure wave slammed into his ears. Templar reeled backwards, ears ringing, afterimages seared onto his retinas.

"It's Camoran!"

"-spell or something-"

"TAKE HIM DOWN!"

Templar opened his eyes. The light had gone, leaving a thick pall of smoke in his wake. People were coughing, someone was running down the stairs. Then a booted foot crashed into the ground a metre from his face.

_Red robes, silver-black armour, that was him, that was Camoran, and the book, the book was just there, he was holding it in one gauntleted fist, grasping it tightly, sword in the other, running, running, taking it away, taking the Amulet, taking everything_

The arrow moved inside him, and he muffled a scream. Templar raised an arm, and blinked to clear his rapidly-darkening vision. Someone was running after the Sponsor, but they were too slow, too slow. _The book. Need it, need it for – everyone… _He stretched out and… pulled. The world before him distorted like a fishbowl, and a sound like the rushing of air filled his ears. He pulled, _reaching_ out for the collection of dusty pages that would contain…

The book flew from the assassin's hand and spun through the air towards Templar, bouncing a few times before coming to rest on the damp ground. He distantly saw Raven turn for a second, face expressionless, before running off. More heavy feet slammed down past his head, chasing, following, hunting. There was Baurus, standing in the corner, looking slightly annoyed but no worse for wear, _unlike yours truly_.

The floor was wonderfully nice and cool on Templar's cheek.

The arrow was wonderfully nice and painful in Templar's shoulder.

Unconsciousness was wonderfully nice and close to Templar's thoughts.

His hearing returned, a second before he slipped into a dreamless oblivion. "Damn, he's fallen asleep." A sigh. "Okay, someone come and help me pull this arrow out."

_Continue to the main story._

---

Main Story

The arrow lay on the ground before him, split in two, layered with congealed blood.

"The potions should have cleared up most of the wound, but your arm will still be a bit stiff for a few weeks. There's only so much we can do." Lieutenant Caroline got up and dusted her knees. She'd travelled down from Cloud Ruler yesterday, coming to provide some additional help for their investigations, and supervising some unrelated bodyguard duties for the Imperial Chancellors that ruled while the realm scrambled to find a new Emperor. _I keep forgetting they don't know about Martin. _

Templar clenched and unclenched his fist a few times, trying to get rid of the dull ache. "The woman who healed me last time must've done a really good job. I was good as new after that Oblivion Gate. But thanks anyway," he added hurriedly.

'_Welcome back, Templar. Things were a little weird for a second there, but… I don't know. Forget it.'…_

…'_Only ten hours. Wasn't I half-dead when you pulled me out?'…_

…'_There was a priest, a woman in the refugee camp. Very pretty, too. We left you with her for a couple of hours, and here you are. So she must've done something right.'_

_And I never even saw her._And _I never found out what Matius was talking about._

"Hm. No problem."

They were sitting in the meeting room's antechamber, as the other half-a-dozen Blades searched for evidence and combed the sewers for Raven Camoran.

"They won't find him, you know," Baurus said from behind him. The guard hadn't suffered any major injuries, and seemed at least kind of satisfied at the way things had turned out. "That was Mankar Camoran's son."

"Big fish," Caroline replied.

"And, Templar..." Baurus began. "It's just that – never mind. Sorry that… I couldn't help you more. With the arrow and everything. We've even got you to thank for getting that book for us. But-"

Templar shook his head. "Don't worry, Baurus."

"I'll go and see if anyone's found anything," Caroline said, after a moment. "You can come as well, Baurus, and tell me what's been happening around here."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't 'sir' me, sergeant." _'Sergeant' Baurus? _The two of them walked off, leaving him alone among the old, wet stones.

Templar reached into his pockets and pulled out the fourth volume of Camoran's Commentaries. It was relatively unscathed from his telekinetic grab. _Useful trick. It's a pity these things only come to me under extreme stress. Hm, maybe that's why magic is still so rare. _The jet-black cover still had that fresh leather smell, and the pages were crisp to the touch. "I suppose they don't exactly mass produce these," he said to himself quietly.

He opened it and began to read. A few seconds later: "He must have been crazy when he wrote this."

'_May the holder of the fourth key know the heart thereby: the Mundex Terrene was once ruled over solely by the tyrant dreugh-kings, each to their own dominion, and borderwars fought between their slave oceans...'_

---

"He must have been crazy when he wrote this." Martin winced and checked the title of his current reading material, for what felt like the tenth time. 'Playing with Fire: Oblivion's Forbidden Law'. Something to do with the history behind summoning Oblivion gates, but by the gods it was hard to get through.

'_Before Lord Dagon was a band of the assassins. They all turned to look at Xilivicus with insufferable eyes. Broga turned as well with a relaxed façade, his nostrils flaring every once and a while. The armrests of Dagon's primeval throne seemed shredded apart by the Daedric Prince's jagged ebon nails. A cagey and homicidal vibe was pulsed out from the Lord of Misery and Disaster. Dagon's black eyes shifted over to the door; fixing the abhorrence upon the Churl_.'

---

'_Get by the Ge and do as thou wilt, of no fetters but your own conscience! Know that your Hell is Broken, people of the Aurbis, and praise the Nu-Mantia which is Liberty!'_

"Get by the Ge?" Templar muttered irritably. "What the f—ck is that?"

"Hey, bookworm!" someone called out. It sounded like the Lieutenant. "You ready to leave?"

"Sure," he replied. He slipped the book into a pocket and stood up, stretching his legs. "Where are we going?"

Caroline's head appeared around the doorway. "You're going to like this. We're going back up to the surface."

"Whoopee."

"And then we're going to get you – that's right, _you_, Templar – to raid the Mythic Dawn headquarters all by yourself, get the Amulet, kill Mankar Camoran, and leg it back to Cloud Ruler Temple with a legion of cultists in hot pursuit. Up for it?"

"Uh… what?"


	29. Revelations

_A LONG, LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I'm amazed by the breadth of my readers' backgrounds (thanks, traffic meter). Actually, the breadth of my 'visitors' backgrounds, meaning people who have... seen a page of my story. Probably only the first one. Hello to all those from the US, the UK, and Canada, the five from Australia, and those lucky individuals from Puerto Rico, Israel, Namibia, France, the Netherlands, and Ireland. My dad's from the Netherlands. Some of my friends' parents are Namibian. We're doing an Irish poet in English Literature. And hey, I live in Australia. There's connections everywhere!_

_This chapter is flippant and talky, so... deal with it, I guess. The fourth wall is broken so many times it's nothing but rubble, but be thankful I removed the Batman reference. I've also figured out the source of some of the typos – the document editor is a bit dodgy (i.e. a real bitch) with formatting. And I'm sorry for throwing this whole Akavir thing in there – it was going to become an important subplot a while back, but thanks to the fickleness of memory I only just remembered it. I might edit a few previous chapters to make it less of an info-dump. Anyway, I've now finished school so I can catch up on all of my unfinished projects. Oh, and random name-drop: You should go out and read the First Law trilogy by Joe Abercrombie. It's awesome. Totally._

_Merry Christmas..._

_EDIT 09/01/10: Chapter finished, and __turned out better than I expected. Fixed some typos. However, I cut around five pages from this chapter, a whole extra bit of Bran's story where he met up with a few survivors and was in the village of Water's Edge itself, trying to escape. Because I quite like that sequence (though it is unnecessary – the chapter works better without it) there is now an extra chapter so you can read it yourself. _Bonus materials,_ free of charge. _

Revelations

_**The Retiene Farmstead(**__**1)**__**, West of Water's Edge, The Lower Niben, Hearthfire 6 3E433**_

The plough furrowed through the dirt, leaving straight grooves of upturned earth in the dry soil. Eduard Retiene could feel the horse's muscles working as he lay back in the saddle, the placid animal trudging forwards, row after row, in the hot afternoon sun.

They reached the end of the field, bordered by a timber fence and the five acres of corn in the next plot. He tugged on the reins. The horse stopped, and he dismounted, cursing his clicking knee. He walked over to the plough and pulled a lever, lifting the blades from the ground. The horse turned a slow left, flicking his tail, as Eduard led it around to the next row. Push the lever back, blades down, get on horse – _damn knee _– tug the reins, start moving.(2) Again, and again, and again. _I could almost be glad when winter comes around. _He felt some sweat trickle down his nose, mixing unpleasantly with the dusty air.

An hour later the job was done, the ground almost ready for planting. He looked out over the field, a wide expanse of brown earth that would soon be filled with beetroot. _Hopefully._ Cornfields enclosed two sides – the stalks bending low with their heavy loads, almost ready for harvesting – with potatoes on another, the farmstead and small garden nestling on the outskirts of the forest to the west. It was a bit of a pain to expand sometimes, as more woodland always had to be cleared. _And some of those trees are BIG._

The Retiene farmstead was a mile west of the village of Water's Edge, which lay beside the Niben River as it emptied out into Topal Bay, just north of Leyawiin. They'd owned it for almost twenty years now, and business was good.

Their home was a relatively small stone building with a slightly sagging thatched roof. _Ah, well. Should fix that soon, with winter soon approaching. _It was roughly L-shaped, complete with a chimney and shuttered windows. A small garden out the back, shaded by a few large oak trees.

He walked up the steps to the shaded wooden porch and opened the door. It was quite dark inside, and Jolie was sweeping the floor over by his battered old rocking chair, next to the fireplace. Eduard wiped his face with a frayed sleeve.

"Where's Bran?"

"In his room with Summer, I think." She pointed over at the left hallway. "Is the new field done?"

"Almost. Just need to prepare the seedbeds."

"Good. It's about time." She smiled, and shook her head, blonde hair framing a homely face. Her cheeks were red from the heat. "Well, you'd better see what your son's up to. The kitchen is _still_ black from that fire. Oh, that pie had better _not_ burnt." She rushed off to the oven, muttering to herself.

_That fire: an inconvenient accident caused by his twelve-year-old son, involving hot embers, a flammable shirt and some avocado. It hadn't been that serious; well, okay, the house had almost burnt down, but didn't all little boys like burning things? It was just that _his_ little boy had been more ambitious._

Eduard found himself outside the door to Bran's room. He heard some breathless laughter from within. A dog barked, loudly. He knocked, thinking that Bran should have some privacy, now that he was growing up.

"Come in, dad."

"How did you know it was me?" he answered, opening the door.

"Your footsteps. They're slower that mum's."

"Fair enough."

Bran was sitting on his bed, playing with Summer. Or, more accurately, the big grey dog was desperately trying to lick his face. The boy laughed again, and shoved him off. "Sit, Summer. What's up, dad?" he asked, looking up at his father.(3)

Eduard smiled. "Oh, not much. Mum wanted to see what you were up to."

"Okay. Is she _still_ annoyed about the fire?" he asked with earnest brown eyes.

"No. Yes. More worried than annoyed, though."

Bran thought for a moment. Summer lay on the floor, panting. "I didn't _mean_ to—"

"I know," he interrupted. "That's just... mothers. Anyway, what else did you do today? Not just sitting in here, I hope."

His son looked at him funnily. "I _do_ go to school, you know."

"Oh." _Whoops_. "True. What's that, six years? And I still can't remember."

"And when I came home I had to help mum with the garden, and then Robb came over for a while. We played with swords and stuff. Well, sticks really, but we pretended they were swords. And then he left."

Robb was the neighbour's boy, the Amelions. Robb had three sisters and Bran was an only child, so they saw each other quite often.

"And Robb also taught me this awesome(4) game. It's like one of those board games that Rickon has, except you don't need—"

"_BRAAAAAN?! EEEEDD! Dinner's on the table!"_

"How long do you think we can get away with? She seemed to be in a pretty good mood; maybe you can teach me the rules."

"_EEEEDD! It's getting cold! Get that son of yours in here NOW!"_

They shared a glance. "Okay. After dinner."

Dinner was good. A pie with... stuff in it. Meat and vegetables, with a thick crust, still steaming hot. They all laughed and talked and were quiet for a time, and the dog was sent outside for almost jumping onto the table.

And afterwards it was dark, so Bran wanted to go out and look at the stars.

Jolie(5) sat on the porch, pointing out the constellations her own mother had taught her; the Bretons saw slightly different constellations than the other races of Tamriel. But she soon went inside after being attacked by the mosquitoes, taking Summer with her.

So the two of them lay on their backs in the grass, staring up at the cold night sky.(6)

---

Damp grey walls boxed him in, towering up on all sides, the stone blocks worn smooth by centuries of disrepair. Even with his torch's orange flame the room had a strangely blue radiance, a multitude of cobwebs and mysterious stains being revealed by the light. Voices echoed in the distance, vague phrases occasionally finding their way into his ears. Stagnant cold air pinched his nostrils, and he sneezed violently.

The aftermath of the battle had been oddly quiet, and with everyone fussing over his wound there wasn't much he could do to help the Blades, in terms of cleanup and detective work. So he'd decided to pull out his newly acquired _Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes: Volume 4 _and indulge in some riveting reading, with riveting being a rather... unsuitable word (but still providing some awesome alliteration).

'_Get by the Ge and do as thou wilt, of no fetters but your own conscience! Know that your Hell is Broken, people of the Aurbis, and praise the Nu-Mantia which is Liberty!'_

"Get by the Ge?" Templar muttered irritably. "What the f—ck is that?"

"Hey, bookworm!" someone called out. It sounded like Lieutenant Caroline. "You ready to leave?"

"Sure," he replied. _Thank the gods for _that _interruption. _He put the book away and stretched his legs, feeling the new ache in his shoulder where the arrow had gone through. "Where are we going?"

Caroline's head appeared around the doorway. "You'll like this. We're going back up to the surface."

"Whoopee."

"And then we're going to get you – that's right, _you_, Templar – to raid the Mythic Dawn headquarters all by yourself, get the Amulet, kill Mankar Camoran, and leg it back to Cloud Ruler Temple with a legion of cultists in hot pursuit. Up for it?"

"Uh… what?"

There was a moment's awkward silence. Templar considered muttering some sort of expletive.

"Really?" he asked desperately. "Because that sounds eerily familiar. I think-"

"No."

"Oh."

"We're going to gather all the Blades we can find and assault the place en masse. Seal the exits, invade the HQ, and find the Amulet. _Much_ more reliable, as plans go." She thought for a moment. "We ARE going up to the surface though. That part was true."

Templar sighed. "Well, why'd you say it then?" A few of the other Blades were arriving now, talking amongst themselves and retrieving any loose equipment. One of them was jotting down notes in a professional manner.

"Because I like seeing new recruits squirm." The Lieutenant grinned evilly.

"Oh, shit. I forgot. I'm technically under your command now, aren't I."

"That's right. Unfortunately, Jauffre's taken a liking to you, so you're safe. For the moment."

Templar winced. "I'm brimming with joy."

Caroline looked at him suddenly, gestured at the floor. "Nevertheless, I still have some authority. Twenty pushups, now."

"Oh, come on. What?!"

"Twenty pushups, for unparlimentary language before a superior officer. NOW!"

---

It was dark when they reached the surface. Not too dark, though, as warm firelight peeked out from behind every closed shutter Templar could see _(the Illumination Within mod – be there or have unilluminated windows)_, giving the place a pleasantly cosy atmosphere. Signs and trees swayed in the gentle breeze.

The last Blade emerged from the manhole and shut the cover behind him with a heavy _clunk_. "Wow. Nice night," he said cheerfully.

_Indeed. It would have been a nice day, too, if it wasn't relegated to trudging around sewers. Again._

"Okay, people," Caroline announced. "Good work down there today. While we didn't catch Raven, we did manage to recover a very important book."

"And we saved Baurus and-". The man paused. "-that guy's asses."

"Be nice, Roliand," she chided. "And 'that guy's' name is Templar. If you'll _care_ to cast your mind back a few days, he's kind of an... honorary member of our wonderful organisation. As such, I expect him to be treated with respect."

Half-a-dozen curious faces turned to look at him. He cringed.

"Oh. Him."

"I remember."

"AND," the Lieutenant interrupted, "That's it for today. Or tonight, whichever you prefer. We're going straight to the legion barracks for food and sleep – I am _sure_ that no one will get distracted on the way there – because the assault on the Mythic Dawn is coming any day now. So be prepared, and get some rest. Dismissed."

The Blades turned and began walking down the street as one, impressively synchronised in their movements. Lieutenant Caroline watched them go, smiling faintly.

"Uh – Lieutenant?" Templar asked quietly. "Can I have a word?"

"Of course, Private."

_Oh no. Private. Really?_ "I think it's best if we deliver the books to the Arcane University tonight. The more time Tar Meena gets with them, the better."

She looked at him quizzically. "Arcane University? Tar Meena? I'm unaware of any magical involvement, unless you'd care to... elaborate?"

"Oh. Sorry about that. Well, the books seem like gibberish to me, but apparently they contain the next step on this whole 'Path of Dawn' thing. So I asked one of the scholars at the Arcane University to have a look, try and figure it out."

"Because the Blades – the most elite body of warriors in the Empire – are too stupid to do this on our own." Her piercing gaze gained even more quizzicality. _Spellchecker accepted that? Wow, okay. What about 'testicality.' Oh look, no, it's come up red._

"Well... yes."

"Okay. Fine. I suppose it is a good idea. If you give me the books, I'll go and do it now."

Templar paused. "I really think I should do it myself. I know Tar Meena already after all."

"You're in _no_ shape to be running around _anywhere_," Caroline replied. "You need a good night's sleep to help that wound of yours to heal."

"The books are locked in my room at the Foaming Flagon."

"Oh, for Septim's sake." She sighed irritably. "_I_ am going to get the books. Then _you_ will go to bed. Then _I_ will bring them to the Arcane University. End of story."

"I'm coming." Templar felt like a petulant schoolboy, but there were several other reasons as to why he wanted to see Tar Meena. Questions he needed answers to.

"Gah! Alright! You can go."

"Thank you."

Caroline glared at him, and thought for a moment. "I don't trust this. You'll probably get mugged or something, and those damn books will be stolen again. BAURUS!"

"Can't this wait?" the Blade called back, fifty metres down the road.

"No! Blame Templar. You're coming with us to the Arcane University," she added as he came closer.

"I'm kind of tired. Tomorrow, on the other hand, would be perfect."

"Bad luck, sergeant. You know the most about these books, so you're in."

_We're off to see the wizards, the wonderful wizards of Cyrodiil's premier academic magical institution, one of whom happens to be a slightly cranky Argonian._

"You coming, Templar?"

"Oh. Sorry." He jogged after them, hoping he could soon change out of his armour into something slightly more comfortable.

"For your sake, Private, I hope this scholar of yours is still awake."

---

The streets passed by, as they are wont to do when one is walking somewhere. The Arboretum still seemed slightly threatening at night, but in a group of three it wasn't that bad. And hey, at least it wasn't raining like last time. Trees loomed against the night sky on their right, while on the left was an endless parade of shops, squashed up between the thick district walls and the gardens. Baurus noticed a pond nestled amongst the thick vegetation, lilies bobbing gently, water rippling in the moonlight that streamed through the canopy. Having something else to focus on greatly helped in drowning out Templar's voice.

"-and then we were running, the castle was like, _collapsing_ behind us, rubble raining down, dust everywhere right, and suddenly the roof _in front of us _caves in too, so instead of stopping Captain Matius just runs _up_-"

Caroline glanced across at Baurus. "Does he _always_ talk this much?" she asked plaintively.

"No." The other Blade kept walking.

"-into this giant ballroom, it was amazing. Honestly. Then we go back down into this kind of grimy hell, thundering noise, until we burst out-"

"Remind me. Exactly _how_ did Templar convince us that he was coming again?" Caroline added, pointedly ignoring the former prisoner.

"You tell me," Baurus said. The pool receded into the distance behind them, and his thoughts turned to the unpleasant matter of war.

"-and the Imperial Legion was there and basically saved the day."

There was silence for a moment.

Then a chattering group of women lurched past, their high heels clicking on the cobbles. A branch cracked, causing a flock of birds to suddenly take flight, squawking harshly. The gates to the Arcane University loomed closer and closer, familiar braziers of purple fire on either side. They were currently open, and the trio trudged through onto the wide stone bridge that led to the university itself.

Templar realised that he'd been talking non-stop for the past ten minutes. Well, once he'd got going it had all just _flowed_ out.

"Sorry, I've probably just ruined any chance of friendship with you t-"

"Haven't been here for a while," Caroline interrupted. The bridge arched over a small dark valley, and the university spires were silhouetted against the starry sky. They passed another brazier, burning away merrily – except that the brazier itself was empty, violet flames appearing from thin air.

"Never trusted wizards," she added darkly. "Magic's too unreliable. And no, I don't want a verbal essay on that, Private."

"Wasn't going to," Templar answered meekly. They kept walking. "Hey, look. There's no guards."

"Is there usually?"

"I _thought_ so." He stopped before the second pair of gates, solid-looking wooden things studded with metal rivets, glancing up and down. They were deserted, and firmly shut.

Baurus stood behind him, waiting patiently. "Well, go on." He gestured at the door.

"Oh." Templar stepped forwards and knocked on the wood sharply. "Hello? I'm Templar Estantesec of the Emperor's Blades, here to see Tar Meena."

There was no reply. "Try it ag-"

Suddenly, the gigantic doors began to creak open – without anyone's help, apparently – revealing a set of steps that led down into the gloomy university courtyard, which was also quite uninhabited. Templar walked forward cautiously, half-expecting a godly voice to speak from the heavens. Instead, he was treated to a whisper in his ear.

"_Don't touch anything,_" someone hissed.

"AHH!-" Then it was gone. The scream caught in his throat.

Caroline stared at him. "What was that for?!" she asked irritably.

"Nothing. A – a spider or something." _I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy..._

She sighed. "Whatever. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can go to bed."

Templar led the way, assuming it was only fair since he'd been so adamant on coming. He made his way down the stairs and along the wide path to the base of the central tower; the building soared into the heavens, its uppermost levels lost in the night sky. He knocked on the door, heard no answer, and opened it cautiously.

The lobby was largely the same as he'd left it, a tall, warm, circular room made of perfectly smooth granite blocks. He wiped his feet on the mat and gestured to the two Blades to come in. A sharp gust of wind darted through the opening, making banners sway and flames flicker, and he shut the door hurriedly.

"What's with all the eyes?" Caroline asked. The same golden eye design, arranged within an eight-pointed star, was woven into every piece of cloth they could see. It had also been embedded in the pavement before the entrance.

"It's an old symbol from thousands of years ago. It was believed to have protective and healing powers, so it used to be quite common," Baurus answered, surveying the room.

Templar looked over at the bench where Tar Meena had been waiting for him on his last visit, but the tower was devoid of life. There was a high-pitched crackling sound at the edge of his hearing, but he couldn't quite place where it was coming from. _Maybe it's that teleportation circle. _Sure enough, the occasional purple sparkle jumped into the air above the stone dais at the opposite end of the room. Then the crackle got louder, turning into a sort of high-pitched whine. Ribbons of energy were encircling-

_Whoomph! _

The light disappeared, revealing an old Argonian. "And those young ones make it look so easy," she muttered darkly. "Can't they just have some ordinary steps? Magic doesn't have to be used for every-" Tar Meena looked up, and noticed the three Blades standing by the doorway. "Hello. And what's the reason for this late-night visit?"

Templar stepped forwards. _"_I've recovered more of the Mythic Dawn commentaries," he said, not bothering with a greeting.

"Oh? And who are your two companions?"

"They're members of the Blades. Helped me out a fair bit."

"Hm." The spines on each side of her face began vibrating slightly, blurring the air around them. "Hm."

"Have you... made any progress on deciphering the first book?" he asked cautiously.

Her red eyes focused on him, and she scratched at the thin veil that hung from the back of her head. "Why don't we sit down," she rasped. "Then we can talk."

The Argonian mage walked over to one of the benches and sat; Templar and Caroline followed, while Baurus waited by the door.

"Ooo-kay," she said. "That's more comfortable. Now, tell me about what you've been doing."

"Well," Templar began. "I've got the other two books, so we have everything needed to find the Path of Dawn."

"Actually, no – I don't want to know the details, since they will undoubtedly involve something illegal."

"Okay, good. That makes it shorter." He took the four books out of his pack and laid them on the table before him. Four identical slim volumes, black covers with red lettering. "I can't make any sense of them myself, so I was wondering how you were doing."

Tar Meena paused for a moment before answering. "There's nothing in the university records, as the Mythic Dawn have been seen as a mere curiosity before now. While the Mysterium Xarxes itself is the subject of a great deal of study, Mankar Camoran's little cult is not. I've had a look around the libraries in the city, but they don't deal with magical texts." She shook her head. "Useless place, the Imperial City, when you get down to it."

Templar didn't want to contradict her. "Since we have all the books now, we should be able to figure it out ourselves. Right?"

"In theory, yes. Shouldn't be too challenging." She looked at the Lieutenant. "Have you managed to detain any Mythic Dawn agents for questioning?"

Caroline shook her head. "No. They're remarkably tenacious; fanatical, even. It's very hard to incapacitate them in a fight, and they'll commit suicide upon capture."

"Ah, well. It couldn't be that easy, could it," Tar Meena said ruefully. "Mankar Camoran is rumoured to be a man of great intellect – and great arrogance. That means the answer to the riddle that these books contain will either be deceptively simple or exceedingly complex. Take your pick."

_I'm feeling confident already. Or I would be, if I hadn't wasted all of my stat points on strength and willpower._

"I'd bet on complex," Baurus called out. "Camoran seems like that kind of guy."

Tar Meena hmmed again. "Though it has been a _fascinating _discussion, none of this is helping you people find the answer." She looked at the Blades. "Any chance of telling me a bit more about what this is for?"

Baurus and Caroline shared a glance. "We're reasonably certain that the Dawn has stolen the Amulet of Kings. Without it, the Dragonfires go out and... I'm sure you know the rest. Oblivion gates are involved," the Lieutenant added.

The mage took a sharp breath. "It seems that it is in my best interests to be as quick as possible, then. Though an Amulet without an heir to hang it on isn't much good to anyone. I trust this comes under the usual arrangement?"

"Of course," Caroline replied.

"Good. At least this god-forsaken night can't get any worse. At any rate, how about I keep the originals here so they're safe, and get some copies to you in the morning."

"Sure. Deliver them to the Blades headquarters in the waterfront district. Oh, and the _Foaming_ _Flagon_ Room 21. Come to think of it, why aren't you staying at the chapter-house, Templar? It's free."

"Uh..." _Actually, that's a good idea. _"I forgot to ask where it was. And Baurus was undercover, so I couldn't really-"

"By the gods, you ARE an idiot. Bring your stuff over tomorrow. We're on the corner of Laymil and Kiith, since those _bastards_ in the Legion stole our quarters in White-Gold tower."

"Okay," he answered meekly. One of the wall-mounted (non-magical) torches fizzled out, smoke spiralling up towards the lofty ceiling.

Tar Meena was watching them, mottled skin pulsing in a somewhat unsettling manner. "Well, if that's all..."

"That's it from me." Caroline stood up. "I think Templar had some other questions for you, though. We'll wait outside."

"You can stay if you want." _If I can't share my thoughts with these two, who else is there? They're practically my siblings, now._

"No, it's alright. It's a nice night." She followed Baurus out into the open air, leaving the two of them alone in the university lobby.

"If you don't mind me asking me... what's so bad about tonight?"

Tar Meena sighed. "Oh, just some business with those cursed Necromancers. There were... some deaths. Sad, but – we should have known it was coming."

"Oh."

"And before you ask, the 'usual arrangement' is that in return for inside access to the University, the Blades arrange protection for my family in Black Marsh. It's almost lawless in the border regions, ruled by brigands – but, of course, they don't want to move. Not that I blame them, this city's the same. Too big, loud, dirty, clowns, fools, brutes and thieves everywhere. I should just dump my money in Lake Rumare, save time." She realised she'd been rambling, and stopped suddenly. "Get to the point. You didn't come here to ask about my feelings."

---

"See that one? That's the warrior. That's what I was born under." Eduard pointed out a group of twenty stars, almost directly above them, which just _might_ have formed the shape of a stocky man with shield and axe.

"You're not a warrior."

"Yeah, well. Maybe I could've been. I always _let_ you beat me."

Clouds were creeping in from the northern horizon, perhaps bringing some more rain. The great blackness of space around them twinkled with a million points of light, and the planet's two moons were only thin crescents.

"How far away are the stars?" Bran asked. "Master Aemon says they're so far that we can't even_ imagine_ it."

And then, suddenly, there was a burst of light. A flash of red splashed across the sky, searing his retinas. He blinked rapidly, and sat up as a sudden loud _crack!_ rattled the shutters of the farmhouse. _Like one of those fireworks, or something. _He felt his son flinch beside him on the grass. Then some more light, except this was steady, a bright yellow glow out towards the fields.

The cornfield was on fire.

He could see the flames licking the air, the crackle of burning leaves. Thoughts rushed through his mind: a million questions _(who, what, why?)_, panicked reasoning _(it rained fairly recently, it should still be damp, shouldn't burn too quickly)_, responses _(maybe we can stop it, the water pipes are under there, maybe if we open all of them, burst something)_. But all Eduard Retiene could do was stare.

The fire was coming closer, he could see that. But there shouldn't have been a fire in the first place...

He noticed, distantly, that he was stepping forwards, had started to walk towards it.  
"Dad? What is it? What's the light?" Bran asked anxiously, following him.

Then, carried to his ears by the wind, came the unmistakable crackle of popping corn.

"Oh my gods. Eduard, is that ours or next door?"

"Ours." _Though it hurts to say it._

His wife was standing in the doorway, looking out over the farmlands in shock. "Can't we do something?"

He laughed bitterly. "Not really. I'll ride over there, maybe the irrigation pipes can save some of it. Maybe the neighbours will come and help."  
The blaze was bigger now, he could see the flames clearly. Long tongues of fire that lashed at the night sky.

"Bran, Jolie, go inside. I'll be right back." _I don't think you can help much_.

"Be careful," she replied, beautifully calm as always, ushering the boy up onto the verandah, taking one last look before walking away. "I'll get some water from the well. Just in case."

And then, the ground trembled slightly. Just a brief shudder, but something about it made Eduard's hairs stand on end. It was like the earth was... wrong.

---

Templar lay on his bed, chin propped up on his arms, staring at the calligraphic lettering of the Commentaries; or at least, a copy of them. He'd found them in a neat pile outside his room after waking up, for all intents and purposes identical to the real thing. He flicked through a few pages absently, feeling the smooth parchment flow through his fingertips. After paying for breakfast, Templar had realised that he was almost completely out of gold. _Fifty Septims left._ _Looks like I'll have to accept the offer of accommodation after all. Well, not tonight. Tomorrow, maybe._

"_Okay, first question. How does magic work?"_

"_I was wondering when you'd ask that," she replied. "You have a bit of an aura about you. When I first saw you, you were... brimming with magic, perhaps."_

"_And?"_

"_The greatest theorists in the world have pondered that question for centuries; I just look after a library. A very good library, mind you. What do you expect me to tell you?"_

"_Well, I don't know. Why can I use magic, when I don't think I've ever learnt how to?"_

"_Magic is... interesting," the Argonian began. "Essentially, it's believed that a mage borrows energy from everything around him and concentrates it through willpower, then releases it with a word or gesture symbolic of the action being done. Gestures aren't needed; it's just that it's easier to envision the results of a spell when associating it with something physical. As a result, much of peoples' training as a mage focuses on expanding the power of the imagination."_

"_So. I have a good imagination." _That's a bit less glamorous than I expected.

"_Probably, yes. That contributes to some sort of instinctive ability, as does your inner determination, resolve, whatever you want to call it."_

"_And we borrow energy from our surroundings."_

"_The easiest thing to take energy from is yourself, because people have innate knowledge on how their bodies will react. More advanced mages are able to take energy from other things – rocks, people, the air – making their magic vastly more powerful and long-lasting. Everything is made of energy, in the end. The mental capacity required to concentrate in such a way for any length of time is another limiting factor, though."_ _Tar Meena paused. _"_Certain races have natural magical abilities, too. For example, vampires can shapeshift very easily. However, you're not a vampire."_

"_No." Templar thought for a moment. "Okay. Cool. One more thing. I tend to learn new spells when under... stressful situations. Not from books, or scrolls." _

"_That might be a cause of the memory erasure you told me about. Certain things trigger hidden associations which uncover old knowledge. Or it might just be your natural ability coming out – the mind is a very powerful thing, when it needs to be."_

He'd given up on reading the books in the usual way, and was instead trying to find patterns in the letters. Maybe all the letters of each sentence were jumbled, or it was the third word of each sentence, or maybe there was some sort of fixed code. Maybe there were clues, like a treasure hunt... No, that wasn't right. Tar Meena had said it would be simple. Maybe.

"Of the _skin_ of gold, _the_ Xarxes Mysterium _says:_ be fooled _not_ by the _forlorn_. 'Skin the says not forlorn.' No, that can't be right."

A few crumpled pages, covered in untidy scrawls, were scattered over the sheets, making an irritating crinkling sound as he moved. He looked around for another bit of scrap paper to jot down some notes on, and saw a few clean pages on the desk across the other side of the room.

Templar reached out toward them half-heartedly. "Too... much... effort." He began to focus his mind on them, trying to pull off that telekinetic trick which had worked so well in the sewers the day before.

"Oh, come on." The air rippled a bit, but the paper stayed firmly stationary. _Or is that... stationery? Ba-doom tish! Gods, I hate puns._ "Paper. Over. Here," he muttered. "Paper. Over-"

There was a furious rustling as a cloud of blank parchment suddenly decided to dive through the air and wrap itself around his face.

"_My turn," Tar Meena interrupted. "Your memories. Why are they gone?"_

"_I was... in prison." _

"_Hmph." She gave that distinctive, cranky little grunt of hers. "Well... memories are never erased completely. Doing_ that_ would cause irreparable damage to the mind of the subject, and there ARE laws against that sort of thing. Instead, they're... buried. Layered under other things, put in strange places. Still there, but very hard to find."_

"_I was in prison, but I don't know what for. Sometimes the past comes bubbling up, flashes of things. There's strange gaps in my mind. Sometimes I faint, or have dreams." Templar toyed with how much to tell her. He didn't want to sound _too _crazy._

"_Unfortunately, the human mind is very complex; I can't just 'wave a hand' and bring everything back. I need to have some general idea of where to look. If you can write down these flashes, maybe give me an account of what you've been doing since you lost your memories... I might be able to help you. Finding someone who knew you beforehand is useful."_

So. It couldn't be easy, could it. _He sighed. "Thanks... but I'd better solve this Amulet problem first. Hopefully, that's going to be within a week. I'll come back then."_

The newspaper seller (_is there a better word? I don't want to say town crier, because that sounds awfully medieval) _was standing _right_ below his window, yelling at the top of his voice. Templar just wished the man would go somewhere else to shout at people – but the war had certainly been a rather large surprise to him last night.

"'War!' as the latest headlines say! The cover story of the Black Horse Courier! The relationship between our two continents has been strained since the failed invasion of Akavir by Emperor Uriel V in 3E290; but, in the past fifty years, peace talks have opened up trade and travel between Tamriel and the Akaviri homeland. However, early last year talks ended altogether, after an apparent dispute between island territories in the Mallorean Ocean. Many have speculated as to the real reasons for this new hostility – power, resources, and revenge have all been put forward as motives. The most likely is perhaps the huge differences in ideologies between our two great nations, exposed as more and more contact was created.

"Thus started the 'war of ice', a war not of open conflict, but of suspicion and attrition. Merchants and travellers in Akavir have been urged to come home, while the Akaviri populace in Tamriel is coming under increasing pressure to do the same. Espionage and military buildup have continued at an alarming rate. Analysts say that it is only a matter of time before open warfare breaks out – and many believe the reasons for which are still being kept secret by the Elder Council.

"In other news, the rebuilding of Kvatch officially began today, with the clearing away of rubble in the ruined city centre. However, as so many citizens of Kvatch were killed in the Oblivion attack, it is unknown how quickly the construction process will continue..."

"_Well, the sooner the better. These are busy times for the Emperor's Blades. War with Oblivion-"_

"_Not yet," Templar corrected. "The official line is 'an isolated incident caused by a group of rogue sorcerers'."_

"_Quiet, you, I'm not stupid – unlike the rest of this country. As I was saying, war with Oblivion, war with Akavir-"_

"_What?"_

"_Well, there's going to be war soon," the mage continued. "The Empire has been enjoying unlimited growth for nearly two centuries, apart from a few minor rebellions, and that unfortunate Jagar Tharn incident. All of the provinces are unified under one banner."_

"_And?"_

"_In Akavir it's basically the same story. Four races unified. The problem is that there's a _huge _gulf between us and them, in terms of how we think, how we operate as a country. It's enough to know that... well, Tamriel and Akavir are the two most powerful nations on this world. There'll be a war for territory, if nothing else."_

"_Uh..." Templar trailed off._

"_Emperor Uriel V tried to invade Akavir one hundred and fifty years ago, and it's said that the Akaviri have long memories. And of course, there have been countless invasions and counter-invasions over the past thousands of years. We have a long history of conflict; just another part of the endless struggle, if you want to be poetic about it."_

"_Why has no one told me about this?"_

"_They probably thought you knew – it's been going on for years. It's not quite a formal conflict, but... it could be. Very soon. The only real barrier is that there's a very large ocean between Tamriel and Akavir. Let's just hope that they don't learn we're missing an Emperor. That could be a perfect opportunity."_

"_For what?" Templar asked, still wondering how he'd managed to miss a war somewhere. Fair enough, he'd only been out for ten days, but..._

"_What do you think?"_

His stomach grumbled, and he realised that it was already early afternoon. Poring over the books for three hours had done nothing but make his head hurt, but he didn't know who else to ask for help. _As if I don't have _enough_ problems._

Tar Meena had promised to tell him if she learned anything, as had the other Blades. So he decided to have a break, and go for a walk in the sunshine.

---

Now that he realised it, he could see war everywhere. Posters plastered across shopfronts, encouraging recruitment into the legion, or extolling the virtues of peace. The endless rows of warehouses, the drive for new resources. The suspicious glances given to any foreigners brave enough to venture out onto the streets. A vague air of unease. _And hey, Varnado had said he was running low on stock because of demand from the legion._

After another fruitless afternoon, the city was already getting stale. The 'jewel of the Empire' it might have been, but its streets were beginning to feel claustrophobic. Templar hadn't been able to find something interesting and/or fun to indulge in, so instead he'd been vaguely useful and checked up on his own existence.

The Imperial Records Office in Talos Plaza had no mentions of him anywhere. Some Estantesecs were scattered around Tamriel, but none in Cyrodiil itself. There were quite a few 'Templars' however – and, interestingly, one been listed as dead only a few weeks ago. However, nothing else about the man had matched up, and it was probably just a coincidence.

The next stop had been the Banking House of Valint and Balk, in the futile hope that he had some money stashed away somewhere under his name. That had been useless too, and the manager had politely asked him to leave when he revealed that he didn't have an address, or any known family members. It was a reminder that he was currently in, to say the least, a strange situation.

He briefly considered trying the prison; he was probably still on record, as he'd escaped less than two weeks ago. But if all traces of his previous life had been erased from existence, he was sure they'd have used a false name or something anyway. These people were good at covering their tracks. _Besides, it seems slightly risky to walk into a place that only recently viewed me as some kind of mass-murderer. Maybe. Some sort of psychotic lunatic, anyway. A cockroach, less than a cockroach, which cannot be squashed but must be kept in a dark cell, endlessly, until the day he-_

A shiver ran down Templar's back, and he turned his thoughts to other things. He hadn't had any other bright ideas, and was getting rather irritated with the whole memory problem anyway – _my life is just _filled _with irritating problems, though Martin would probably call them 'learning experiences' – _so he'd ended up here. The Waterfront District. More specifically, the Imperial City Docks.

_I mean, I can remember my name, but not my age. Quite a bit of general knowledge is there, like history and place-names. But some isn't. I can still read and count and do magic. Everything about me from more than a month ago is... gone. I suppose my personality is still intact, expect for the more... evil bits. Which, presumably, were removed._

_So, who am I? Templar Estantesec, criminal or champion. Who doesn't even know if his thoughts are true, if he still IS Templar Estantesec. What an interesting position... all thanks to Plot Device Number 26, some conveniently-inflicted amnesia. Oh wait, Number 26 is the unexpected second climax. I think it's Number 34 we're looking for._

Anyway, yes. The docks. His feet dangled in the cool, slightly dirty water, boots sitting on the dry quayside, bathed in weak sunshine that did little to banish the stiff breeze. Restless waves chewed at the piers which extended into the waters of Lake Rumare, throwing icy spray over wallowing merchant barges and proud navy frigates alike. He listened to the distant sounds of hawsers creaking, of ill seabirds croaking, to the wind making a loose shutter rattle, to the laughter of children playing in the surf. Workmen grunted and grumbled, staggering along under heavy loads.

This area was protected from the worst of the weather by a maze of wooden quays and masts and rigging, and there was even a little rocky beach where you could go for a quick swim. A few parents were sitting nearby, keeping a careful watch over their offspring. A sharp, briny smell invaded his nostrils as the wind changed, and he sneezed.

"Where're you docked?"

"Over here, over here. Quickly, now! The tide won't wait forever!"

"Look, mum! I think I saw a dolphin..."

Slightly to his left, further out into the lake, was the giant crescent wall which served as an artificial sheltered cove. It formed a giant semicircle of white stone, stained near the bottom from decades of harsh weather, complete with thick battlements. A wide bridge crossed the harbour, dividing it into two halves, leading to the mass of warehouses and sailor's taverns which clung to the artificial stone island of the wall's base. In the midst of the clustered ships loomed the Imperial City Lighthouse, a vastly smaller version of White-Gold tower that nevertheless still managed to be very impressive, the sun glinting from the windows at its top.

A crab scuttled out from between two rocks, waving its pincers warily. Suddenly it darted away, pursued by a group of shouting children. It was nice just to sit there, not caring about anything except the tug of the waves between your toes, and the occasional slimy piece of seaweed. It was rather cold, however. He narrowed his eyes, squinting at the open water, past the chaos of the waterfront and out towards the opposite shore.(7)

_Well, since I'm here, I _suppose_ I'd better check what's happening with the Blades. If I must. _The corner of Laymil and Kiith was somewhere in the labyrinthine collection of shops and shipping companies behind him, somewhere in the stream of bustling merchants. With a sigh, Templar shook his feet dry and reluctantly pulled on his boots, taking a city map from his pocket.

"Okay. So right now I'm on the Back Beach, which means that-"

"Shall I call you map-worm now, Private?"

Templar snapped the chart shut and whirled around.

"Or shall I just call you someone who should be doing a job, but is, currently, most definitely _not_ doing said job."

"The second one," he replied after a short pause. "I was just about to go and see you guys, actually."

Lieutenant Caroline frowned at him. "Well. That's good, I suppose." She hopped off the pavement and down onto the beach itself, shoes crunching on the pebbles. She was wearing a nondescript sky-blue tunic and shirt.

"Undercover today, Lieutenant?" he asked politely.

"In a way. We're having a day off as well; not much to do, with only one Septim to watch over. The Elder Council is looking after itself, civil unrest is the Legion's job, there's no one to spy on..."

Templar looked out, noticed a detachment of fifty or so legionnaires standing by one of the navy ships, getting ready to board. "What about this Akavir business?"

"That's not really our responsibility either," the Lieutenant replied. "Some of us are a bit sensitive about it though, so don't be too nosy – the Blades still retain a lot of Akaviri culture. You... probably noticed, with the design of Cloud Ruler and all. We can actually be traced to the original Akaviri bodyguard of Reman Cyrodiil."

"Who was he? My history isn't the best."

"He was the king of Cyrodiil when the Akaviri invaded us, eons ago. First era, but don't quote me on that. Reman united the Empire for the first time in centuries, and when the Akaviri were defeated, some of them formed a bodyguard as a kind of honour. Anyway... apparently the first Blades were immortal, and they also aided General Talos' ascent to the throne a thousand years later – he was the one who recovered the Amulet of Kings from Reman III's tomb. I think. He also managed to unify Tamriel briefly, after fighting off a few invasions from Morrowind."

"So... you guys have been around for a long time."

"In one way or another, yes. Hopefully we've left a suitable legacy over the years."

They were silent for a moment.

"Obviously they weren't totally immortal."

"No."

A particularly large wave came rolling in, swirling across the beach almost up to their toes. Caroline turned and started walking back up to the town streets. Templar followed, after one last glance at the water. He realised that his arm was aching quite badly and massaged his shoulder, trying to ease the pain.

They wound through the busy streets and narrow quayside alleyways, eventually ending up at a nondescript warehouse, with boarded-up windows and a fresh coat of white paint. The _Joshua Calvert Shipping Co. 'All the mayope wood you'll ever need,' apparently._

Caroline opened the door and they ventured inside. It was dark, and he could just make out the sloping ceiling and a few doors along the walls. A couple of tables and chairs sat in the middle of the wooden floor, forming murky outlines in the gloom. There was a second storey above the back half of the warehouse, packed with hundreds of crates and boxes that were heaped in untidy stacks, all covered by dusty sheets. A few stray photons – _uh, excuse me? I don't think we've discovered them yet – _crept in through gaps in the window boards.

The Lieutenant waved a hand, taking in the scene. "It's not much, but it _is_ discreet."

"I expected something... more, to tell the truth."

"Yes, it's a hard life, isn't it. All those starving peasants in Elswyr, the catastrophic droughts in Hammerfell..."

"Alright, alright. It's a wonderful place for a headquarters."

Caroline looked at him, and sighed. "I didn't say _that_. It's cold and uncomfortable, but you'll have to get used to it eventually – so you may as well like it while you're here."

"Sure," he replied doubtfully. "I think I can manage another night in the tavern, thank you."

"Suit yourself." She began making her way to one of the doors in the far left corner. "We have ultimate se – oh. Hey Baurus."

"Hello." The other Blade had appeared on the upper level, looking down at them from the balcony.

"You wouldn't know where Private Boros is, would you?"

He thought for a moment. "No. Sorry."

"Never mind." She walked off, disappearing into one of the other areas. Templar was left standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do. _Wait, I know. I'll make friends with Baurus._

"So, Baurus..." The Blade looked at him with a vaguely... vague expression. "Any progress on decoding those Commentaries?" he asked brightly.

"Not yet. Unfortunately," Baurus added. "We've only had the complete set for a day, though, so I'm not surprised."

"Hm. Tomorrow, maybe."

"Maybe."He turned away, stretched his arms. There was silence for a moment, and then Caroline came bustling back in. She looked up at the other Blade critically.

"Sergeant Baurus? I'm sure you have things to do."

"Of course, Lieutenant." He disappeared back into the shadows, and Templar heard a door close somewhere. He noticed that Caroline was staring at him with a mischievous look in her eye, and immediately took a step back. The last time that had happened he'd done an obscene amount of pushups.

"Templar?..."

"Yes?"

"Ask me out to dinner."

"Uh-"

"Just _do_ it, Private!"

_Oh gods._ "Would you" – he choked a little, and coughed a few times to clear his throat – "would you like to... have... uh... dinner with me. Caroline." _Deary me. Deary deary me._ "Lieutenant," he inserted hurriedly.

"Why, tonight would be _lovely_, Mr. Estantesec! I'll see you at the Aurora Restaurant, at seven? Or perhaps the Clockmaker Buffet would be a better choice."

"Um. Um. Damn. I suppose next year would be out of the question?"

---

_Bang!_

_BAM!_

_Bang!_

"Oh that hurt – stop, stop! Rest break! Argh!"

Belisarius lowered his sword and stood there, looking mortified. Martin was bent double, breathing hard, furiously massaging his shoulder where the Blade's wooden sword had slammed into it.

"Uh... sorry about that." He dropped the sword and rushed over. "Sorry. Didn't mean to-"

Martin winced again. "Don't worry. It's good to have – ARGH!" _That's a tender spot. _"...A bit of pain now and then. Pain teaches you lessons very effectively, I'm told." He straightened, groaned again, and let his own sword fall to the ground. They were only wooden, but they were still da(_shouldn't say that_)mn, no, _very_ heavy. And quite sharp, too; he was lucky that he was wearing some training armour. Which was also da(_whoops_)mn, no, _very_ heavy, come to think of it.

"Magic time, I think," he said, sitting down on the grass. "Less chance of personal injury."

"Okay..." Belisarius knelt down beside him. They had been sparring out the front of the temple, in one of the two small grassed areas before the main hall. Martin turned so his back was to the other buildings of the fortress, facing the semicircular expanse of the outer wall. One of the Blades was standing guard at the furthest point, under one of the small pavilions; the priest couldn't make out who it was. He could glimpse the occasional snowy outcrop to his left and right, above the wall's battlements, and ahead was nothing but bright blue sky.

There was a distant hammering sound; someone was knocking on the main gates.

"Who goes there!?" came the challenge.

"Urgent message for the Captain! Just came in from one of the carrier hawks!" Some more mumbling, and the gate squeaked open.

The grass was cool, and the air was clear. A surprisingly pleasant day, considering that winter was fast approaching. He'd finally decided to give in to Jauffre's nagging and have a few lessons with the sword and shield – but his slight natural clumsiness and total inexperience (_self-explanatory, considering my previous profession_) made it slow going. Belisarius had been nice though, always patient, giving him tips, not going too hard when they practised together.

"I suppose I'd better teach you something appropriate today. A bit of weapon degradation."

"Oh?" Belisarius said.

"The disintegrate spell, more specifically. When used on inanimate objects, it's possible to change their composition, making them weaker or stronger. In your line of work, it's most useful when applied to weaponry."

"So I'd think."

"Use it on enemy weapons to make them break, use it on your own if you need to repair it quickly."

He heard some rapidly-approaching footsteps, and saw a man in Blades armour appear at the top of the stairs to the main gate, sweating profusely. He stopped for a moment, hands on his knees, before jogging onwards towards the great hall. _An important message, obviously._

"What happens if you use it... on people?" the Blade asked.

Martin sighed. "Everyone asks that. Nothing much, unless you're very good. Humans are complex, and you have to know what we're made of, how we fit together if you want to mess with our natural structure. It is much easier to use a different spell." He paused. "At any rate... disintegration is most accurate when you are touching the spell's target. This doesn't help in the middle of a fight."

"Most likely not."

"However, it works almost as well from several metres away. If you'd raise your hand like so..." He raised his hand up to eye-level, elbow locked at a ninety-degree angle, throwing a sharp shadow across his robes. Belisarius copied him.

"Then, imagine you're grasping a weapon-"

A door opened somewhere. "I know whose weapons _you'd_ like to grasp, Sarry."

"Shut up, Pelagius." Belisarius glared at him.

The Blade in question crossed the courtyard and disappeared into the western wing, throwing a grin over his shoulder.

"_Anyway_, as I was saying. Imagine you're grasping a weapon and you're pulling it apart, scattering all of its particles to the wind... or maybe replacing them with lead to make it heavy." Martin glanced over at Belisarius' contorted expression. "It takes a while to get the hang of it. Not many people can perform Alteration spells without a lot of practice, needs a lot of concentration. And some natural ability, I suppose; otherwise every farmer in Cyrodiil would be conjuring up water for his crops." He picked up his wooden training sword from the grass. "Here, try it on this."

The Blade stood up and took hold of the weapon with his right hand. "That's it. Now, just-"

-!SNAP!-

The sword exploded into a cloud of flying splinters. Something buzzed, the air blurred, another loud crack echoed through the mountain air. A wooden shard whipped past Martin's face and ricocheted off a stone wall as he dropped to the ground on reflex.

Belisarius was standing there, half-stunned, a bloody scratch scored across his left cheek. Crickets chirped in the silence.

Martin groaned again. "That's enough for today. You'd better get than cut looked at."

"It's only a flesh wound."

"'Flesh wounds' have a nasty tendency of getting infected. Anyway, I think we'll leave the illusion spells for later."

"Okay."

"And do your magic practice far away from other people."

"Okay."

"And remember mysticism. Absorbing magical effects is useful when you're fighting mages. Which reminds me, I'd better teach Templar that," he added as an afterthought.

The Emperor bent down, picked up a splinter that was embedded in the grass, turned it over and over in his hands. "Just don't be so quick with the change. A little bit can go a long way-"

_Doonngggg... Ding-doonngggg... _

Belisarius whipped around, looking back towards the Temple complex. The bell continued to ring.

_Ding-doonngggg..._

Martin clapped his hands over his ears. "What does that mean?" he asked, shouting over the din.

"Something bad!" the Blade yelled back. He gestured towards the main hall. "Come on!"

Martin stumbled after the Blade as they ran across the courtyard, stone slapping on his sandals. The infernal bell kept ringing, echoing, ringing again.

_Ding-doonngggg... Ding-doonngggg..._

Belisarius stopped before the doors to the great hall and pushed against them. The other Blade that had been standing guard on the wall joined them, and the doors creaked open. The three of them ran inside and they made their way through the deserted hall, skirting the empty benches, towards the entrance to the eastern corridor.

The bell wasn't as loud now that they were indoors. Ahead of them, another two Blades ran across the hallway junction.

"It's the warning bell," Belisarius explained as they ran. "It means there's some sort of emergency that threatens either the Emperor or the Empire itself."

Martin noticed a half-finished bowl of soup on a bench, knocked over in haste, the steaming liquid pooling and dripping onto the floor. "I'd say it was the Empire in this case, wouldn't you?" he answered breathlessly.

_Ding-doonngggg..._

They turned left, into another hallway, following another two Blades. After another twenty metres, past a series of brightly-burning torches, the corridor ended and opened up into Captain Steffan's war room.

The messenger was there, still panting slightly, a water canteen grasped in one hand. Most of the Blades were there as well, crowded around the map table in the centre of the room. Captain Steffan was standing on a chair at the far end, shouting at people.

"Everyone! Step back so we can have some ORDER around here!"

Martin stepped aside as another few men and women trooped in through the doorway.

"Quiet down!"

The general hubbub slowly softened into a low murmur as the Blades turned to look at their Captain. Martin saw that Jauffre was there as well; the Grandmaster was talking to the messenger in hushed tones, waving his hands furiously. The bell had stopped ringing a few moments ago.

"We have just received word of some very bad news! One of our carrier hawks has arrived from Second Lieutenant Achille in Leyawiin. An Oblivion Gate-"

_Eduard walked along the edge of the cornfield, next to the fence between this field and the next – the one he'd ploughed in the afternoon. The stalks of corn towered up on his left, bending over, leaves sometimes brushing against his chest. The corn was still fairly green despite the hot weather, so the fire wasn't as bad as he'd thought. But it made a lot of smoke, filled the air with a grey haze that made his eyes sting._

_The horse would have panicked too easily, so he'd decided to walk. He had a few tools with him, a hammer, axe and wrench; water was pumped around under their land by a system of pipes, and by opening or even bursting them the fire could probably be controlled. Probably. _It'll cost an ungodly amount to get it all fixed again._ But what was the cause? Vandals, some sort of freak accident, what?_

_He turned down a thin dirt path which led straight through the middle of the plantation, towards one of the water reservoirs. And the fire. He could feel the air getting hotter, could see the night getting brighter._

_The reservoir was over the other side of the field, in a little clearing, still a fair distance away. One of the ears of corn was dangling in front of his face, and he slapped it away angrily. He could see the fire to his right, now, eating away at his crops perhaps fifty metres away. To his dismay, some of the area ahead of him had already been blackened, burnt to uselessness, and tangled mess of ash and charcoal. And there was more fire, a throng of flames that was directly ahead of him, coming closer, on either side of his little path._

_He kept walking. I _should be able to get through, if I stay on the path._ There was something else, too; a kind of shimmering in the air, behind the flames. Something... red. Crimson._

_The heat was intense, the fire only ten metres ahead now, throwing showers of sparks into the air, creating new spot fires where they landed. He jumped in an attempt to see over the corn, but it was too dense and too tall. The blaze was devouring the green plants with an unpleasant roasting smell. The path, however, was still okay, leading through the firefront, the thin ribbon of earth a safe haven._

Curse this._ He shielded his eyes and sprinted forwards, feet scrabbling on the dirt. Flames reared up on either side, almost touching, reaching out for his clothes, the heat almost unbearable, surrounded by a scorching orange flicker-_

_But then he was through, into the twisted wasteland of burnt plants. He looked at his feet, wiping his face which was slick with sweat, walking forwards. And then his foot struck rock._

_Eduard Retiene looked up, and saw the stuff of nightmares._

_It was some kind of portal, a rippling oval opening of energy. Yellow streamers of fire lashed out from the sides, while the centre was more red, slightly transparent. The air around it shimmered, and through it was certainly not his blackened cornfield. It was held in place by a... gate of sorts, made of rough dark stone, run through with tendrils of lava; two slightly curving sides and a flat top. Wicked spines jutted from the sides. _

_He was standing on a circle of lumpy rock which was spaced evenly around the portal. It was if it had just _appeared_ there (which it most definitely had, he thought), flattening his plants, shearing them clean off at the edges. As he watched, the land trembled again, and a spike somehow _emerged_ from the ground by the gate, a thick, curving spike with a black body and a red tip, almost organic in appearance. The rock around it cracked is it sheared its way upwards, next to three others which had done the same._

_Eduard barely noticed the flames anymore. Now plants were sprouting from the rock, thin, razor-sharp ferns, tendrils of red grass. And then there was a strange booming sound, like a kind of bell, or gong. Except it was like the gate was producing it. _

_Boonnngggg..._

_Red and yellow and orange, all roiling and rippling, clouds of noxious vapour mixing with smoke and embers in the starry sky, writhing tongues of energy growing larger and more furious. He seemed to be surrounded by some sort of red fog._

_And then, something came through. The world seemed to shiver in anticipation._

_It was almost... comical. A reptilian kind of thing, with stumpy legs and long, thin arms, each ending in three vicious claws. A sort of toothed beak for the mouth, beady eyes, and an armoured, bony frill above its head. It reared up on its two hind legs and shrieked at the sky, tail swishing back and forth_

_Something else, now. The gate swelled, and other things emerged. Lots of them. They looked a little like goblins, except they had short tails, a more bony face, and much larger, pointed ears. And was that some kind of... spider? Eight segmented legs, ugly and clicking and wet with fluids, except it had a woman's... a woman's—_

_One of the goblin-like things noticed him there on the edge of the circle, standing in the shadows of his ruined corn. It pointed with a skeletal arm and screamed something in a guttural language._

_Eduard Retiene ran back down the path, faster than he'd ever run, panicked breath wheezing from his smoke-filled lungs; as if the demonic armies of Oblivion itself were chasing him. _

_Which was true._

"-has opened in the forests on the outskirts of the city yesterday evening. Why it didn't open in the city itself, as with the Kvatch incident, is unknown, but it still poses a serious–"

"What?!"

"No, no! Leyawiin?"

"I thought that-"

"-happening again-"

"How far away-"

The room exploded into conversation, muttered whispers becoming shouted questions, but the Blades were silent again almost immediately.

"–THREAT TO the local populace!" Steffan continued. "The Lieutenant has said that the Leyawiin city guards managed to contain the outbreak relatively well, but have sustained heavy casualties. The opening of the gate has also caused severe forest fires. Most importantly, it proves that Kvatch gate was not an isolated occurrence. Grandmaster Jauffre will provide a briefing as to what this means for the Empire's future once we have organised a response, as under NO circumstances do we want another catastrophe on our hands."

The news sunk in. _Another gate? I suppose it was only a matter of time... And who knows what the coming weeks will bring. _Martin focused on the room in front of him, on the big red Daedric letter 'O' that now sat just above the port city of Leyawiin on the intricately-painted map, looking at the curved coastline, anything to avoid bringing back the awful memories of what had happened in his hometown. To his people, just one week ago.

Fires burned, the spire of the chapel crashed to the ground, dust flying as the boom echoed through the city streets, momentarily drowning out the screams that weaved through the night air. The daedra were everywhere, twisted, nightmarish shapes in the darkness... except that this nightmare was real.

He forced himself to glance over at the map. Leyawiin was situated at Cyrodiil's southernmost point, on the western bank of the Niben River where it emptied into the Topal Bay. It was a relatively narrow stretch of land, all heavily forested, sandwiched between the borders of Elswyr and the Black Marsh. Most importantly, Cloud Ruler Temple had been built in the centre of the continent, in northern Cyrodiil – and about as far away from Leyawiin as you could get while still staying in the country. There were quite a few smaller towns scattered around the area as well, which wouldn't have the protection of Leyawiin's high city walls.

He noticed that Captain Steffan was still talking. "I'm assuming that our outposts in the other major cities have been contacted, but I'll be sending my own messengers out just in case. At any rate, we have to get down to the gate as soon as possible so we can help to close it."

"What about the Legion, sir?"

"The Legions are on their way, but they'll take a while to mobilise; they don't have a big barracks down in Leyawiin. We have to rely on the local guards and any Blades forces further south to contain the outbreak, as, well... we're hundreds of miles away at the moment. All the same, I hope to have us moving within a few hours, so we can be on our way before nightfall. Then we'll arrive in Leyawiin within two days, meeting up with other Blades as we go."

Jauffre stepped forwards. "As Captain Steffan has said, I'll tell you more about this soon. But what it essentially means is that the Mythic Dawn and Mankar Camoran are more powerful than we thought, if another Gate has opened so soon. It also means that we need to be prepared to respond to new gates at any time, fully deploying the Legions and building up local defences. The Blades are fewer in number, so we can't have the biggest role, but we can provide reliable intelligence and quick, surgical strikes when it counts. And we'll hopefully be able to stop the invasions altogether once we've neutralised the Mythic Dawn."

"Any questions?" the Captain asked.

There was silence as the twenty gathered warriors pondered this latest piece of bad news.

"Uh... what about my duties?" Martin said, already knowing the answer.

"You'll be staying here, highness, with the Blades who are currently on guard rotation. It's still the safest option, I think. Any more questions? No? Good. This is a high-profile, fast wartime deployment, so gather the appropriate supplies and equipment. We leave in two hours."

---

Back down the path, sweat and ash streaking his face. He blundered through blackened farmland, feet slipping on the rough soil. And then a shadow leapt over his head, landing on the ground a few metres in front, turned to face him. Frilled head, long claws.

His legs skidded on the dirt, instinct kicking in, and Eduard dived into the cornfield. Stalks and leaves blurred past on either side as he pushed through, the tall plants cutting his visibility down to almost nil. They were shouting behind him, he could hear the things from the gate crashing through the vegetation, just over the rustling and crackling of his own retreat.

He almost ran into a patch that was still burning but managed to stumble aside, flames brushing his face, back into the green, undamaged part of the field.

He glanced backwards but saw only blurry shapes and flickering shadows, and the red outline of the gate. Leaves slapped at his face, scratched at his clothes. His feet slipped and slid on the dirt, plunging through the corn.(8)

And then he was out, at the fence. The farmstead only fifty metres away, past a cleared strip of land. Blood pounded in his head, breath rasping in his throat. He looked around again. _No one behind me._ He vaulted over and kept running, towards the house, _towards my family_. Then he was at the porch, at the door, opening it and crashing through onto the carpet.

Jolie emerged from the hallway, Bran in tow. He realised that he must look like he'd been through hell.

Which was, well, almost true.

"My gods, what happened to you? Are you alright?"

He winced, his mind trying to come to terms with what he'd just seen. "No. We all have to get away from here, as fast as we can. Call the city guards, the legion, anyone."

His wife knelt down beside him, reached out with a hand and made him look into her eyes. "What. Happened?"

"It sounds crazy, but... some kind of gate. There was... fire, creatures. Like the gate in Kvatch."

She breathed in sharply. "An Oblivion Gate. A week ago I would've thought you're crazy. I'll go and pack some things, so we can leave as soon as—"

_AEROKOKAOKROAAHR! _(12)

"Shh, get down!" he whispered furiously.

Bran ducked to the floor. "What is it?"

Jolie beckoned to him. "Okay. Listen to me, Bran. We're going to have to leave soon, so I want you to..."

Eduard crawled over to the window and peeked through the shutters. _It's them, all right. Lots of them. _There were perhaps a dozen or so creatures now crossing the grass in front of the house. Coming towards them. Most of them goblins, a few of the frilled lizards, and one... man. A man, in spiked red armour. Or it was man-shaped, at least.

"They're coming," he murmured over his shoulder. _Stay or go, stay or go? _He looked out again, and they were still moving towards the house. _Go._ "Let's go out the back door."

"How close are they? _What_ are they?"

"Dad? What's happening? Is it the fire?"

"They're... I don't know, little goblin demons, some dinosaurs, an evil man in scary armour! Just 'things!' They look dangerous!"

"Fine! Okay!" his wife whispered hoarsely. "I didn't mean to just _question_—"

"Well, I'm sorry, but it's—"

"Mum, dad! Later!" Bran said, a bit louder.

_Right, as always. _"Back door," Eduard said, taking a deep breath. His heart was almost beating normally now.

Then, something barked. _How did that dog get out? _A loud bark. _Woof, woof woof. Woof! Woof!_

Bran instantly got to his feet. "Summer, over here!" he called out brightly.

Jolie promptly tugged him back down – "Shh!" – but not before her eyes widened in shock as she saw the approaching horde.

They crept through the dark house, down the hallway, past the bathroom and the bedrooms. Everything was indistinct in the blackness, except for the flickering lantern-light that came from under the door to Bran's room, and they made their way towards the exit more by touch than eyesight. Around the corner, a few more metres, and there was the back door. Eduard thought he could hear the creatures talking to one another, perhaps the creaking of clawed footsteps on the porch-

Something tapped on one of the windows in the front room. Not a loud tap, but they heard in very clearly in the breathless silence. A finger, clinking on the glass.

Eduard reached for the doorhandle quietly, checking to make sure that Jolie and Bran were still behind him. He turned it and pulled the door open, revealing the dim expanse of their half-overgrown garden, given a silvery hue by the starlight. It was a mess of trees and bushes, with a path running through the middle.

He tiptoed out onto the dirt, gesturing to the others to follow. Luckily, the door hadn't creaked, thanks to his diligent oiling.

Suddenly, there was a blur of movement to his right. He recoiled as a mass of fur and dog slobber leapt towards Bran, tail wagging madly.

"No! Summer, down!" his son whispered, trying to get the dog to be quiet but smiling all the same.

After a few moments, the dog sat down on his haunches, panting a little. Eduard kept going, past his failed water-feature experiment, towards the back gate. This one, however, _would_ creak, so he climbed over it, feet slipping clumsily on the wood, almost tripping on the other side. Jolie and Bran were a bit more graceful.

Before them was the vastness of the West Weald, a sprawling, dense woodland that covered much of Cyrodiil's southern and western portions. A small track led through the trees, past great redwoods and spreading oaks, winding around a bit before eventually turning up at the gates of Leyawiin.

_Where, hopefully, we'll be safe. If we manage to get there at all._

"Okay," he said softly. "We'd better start off. It's a good five miles to the city. Those demons probably have better things to do than comb the whole forest for us."

"Hadn't we better warn the others? The neighbours? The village?" his wife asked.

Eduard sighed. "Those on the way, maybe. The rest will just have to... fend for themselves."

---

Templar smoothed the napkin down over his nap and sat up a bit straighter; the restaurant was what you could call 'moderately posh.' Waiters darted around in suits. They were sitting at a small table at the edge of an undercover area, on the corner of two streets in the Elven Gardens. A few ferns and lanterns hung in pots above their table. He glanced at the menu, and to his relief he'd actually known what all the dishes were. He'd ordered something called a Seafood Cove, and fervently hoped he didn't have a forgotten shellfish allergy lying around in the back of his head.

He looked up, to see Caroline leaning back in her chair. "Why did you ask me?" he said suddenly.

"I couldn't stand another night of military food." She grinned at him, and took a breadstick from the plate in the centre of the table.

"This isn't some sort of cruel joke or anything, right?" _Because, frankly, I am still quite... bemused._

"Oh, no, my intentions are genuine. They're not entirely romantic, though, before you start getting any ideas," she replied bluntly.

"So..." _What are those intentions?_

"Jauffre says you're going to be very important in the weeks to come. He says a lot about you, actually. So I decided that I'd better get to know you a bit better, as Steffan is far too busy for that sort of thing. Oh, and Baurus thought you could be a Mythic Dawn spy, so I'm meant to be checking that out."

"Uh-huh."

"I don't think you are, though. Don't worry. And Baurus has a good heart, but he's just a bit – a bit careful nowadays."

"Um... good," he said slowly.

"In a monosyllabic mood, are we?"

"Um..." _Oh, the banter is exquisite._

"I'll take that as a yes. Wine?"

"No, thank you."

"Fair enough."

_Hm. I probably didn't have a wife, given _that_ performance. _A slight gust of wind made the hanging plants swing gently. A group of four sat down at a table next to them, chairs scraping across the pavement.

"So. Tell me about yourself, Private Templar. From what I've heard, that should be relatively little." The Lieutenant stared at him, sapphire-blue eyes meeting his own in a slightly unnerving way.

"My name is quite probably Templar Estantesec. I may or may not have a family, I am between twenty and forty years old, and I think I lived in Cyrodiil for an indeterminate period of time before being... arrested for something. I lost most of my memory in some way, happened to run into the Emperor, he died, I escaped, then met Jauffre, had a few important-seeming visions, closed the gate at Kvatch, became a Blade, came here, and somehow turned into some sort of heroic saviour along the way. What about you?" he asked, stopping for breath.

"I was born in High Rock. My father was a Breton, but my mother was an Imperial. When I was eight we moved to Cyrodiil, because dad had work in Cheydinhal with the Mage's Guild there. I went to school, grew up, moved out. I was originally, of all things, going to become a writer." She paused.

Templar decided he'd better say something. "Really?"

"More of a journalist, but anyway. Then, when I was doing some work in Anvil – beautiful city, by the way – both of my parents were killed. My interests changed completely, one thing led to another, and I eventually became a Blade."

"That's a very... matter-of-fact way of putting it."

"Yeah, well. It was senseless, really. Just a backstreet mugging gone wrong. Of course, I had all of these ideals about justice and truth – everyone has them when they're young – and writing had allowed me to pursue that to some extent, but then I wanted more. The city guards weren't appealing to me, because I wanted change on a larger scale, you know? So I went straight to the top and became a Blade."

"Has that helped?"

"Sort of. Ask me in ten years, maybe. How old do you think I am, Templar?"

Templar thought she looked about thirty, but said "Twenty-five" just to be safe.

"Don't lie."

"Okay. Thirty."

"Thirty-five. All of this happened about five years ago. But hey, it's a good job in most respects. Not much opportunity for a social life outside of work, though. You'll fit right in." Her eyes became distant. "First steps are always the hardest... It's always so obvious what you have to do, but actually _doing _it – then they have a habit of leading onto other steps. Lots of them. Diverging paths..."

He was spared from any further conversation by the arrival of their food. Templar found himself staring at a plate of prawns, fish and squid, with some potatoes on the side.

"Hm. I'll let you in on a secret, Templar."

"M-hmm?" he said absently. There was a crab tucked in under the fish, and it was looking at him with beady eyes. One of its pincers was snapped shut around a shrimp.

"The war with Akavir is absolutely the Blade's responsibility. "

"Oh really?" he answered, interest piqued.

"Yes really. It all started going downhill when the Akaviri ambassador was assassinated six months ago."

"Oh really?" He imagined his ears pricking forward, like a dog's.

"Yes really. He was over here to deal with that whole Mallorean islands dispute, sign some new trade deals. Usher in a 'new age of prosperity', all that jazz."

"So everything was going well, until..."

"Until some idiot came and killed him. He was a foreign head of state, so the Blades are, to some extent, responsible for ensuring his safety. Everything was going quite well, until... the defecation hit the ventilation. It was quite a secret visit, because of its importance and the stakes involved. Only the higher-up government officials knew about it. He happened to be staying in a hotel down south, the White Stallion Lodge, for secrecy and so on. The place was fully loaded with guards, both us and the Akaviri. However, a few days before he was scheduled to leave, he was murdered in his bed. No one saw anything."

"Damn."

"Damn indeed. The Akaviri, of course, were royally pissed off. Royal in the most literal sense, because this 'ambassador' turned out to be the king's brother."

"Double damn."

"Yes. Well, not really their king. Their leader, anyway. I'm still not sure how it all works over there. At any rate, things deteriorated from there. Some of the Akavir thought we'd killed him – no matter how stupid _that _would be – because of how unexpected it was. It was a particularly grand cover-up, let me tell you, keeping that away from the media. Some bandits attacked one of the villages there the next night from over the Elswyr border, killed a bunch of priests, which didn't help." She paused. "So, that's where we stand at the moment."

Templar nodded, and stabbed his fork into one of the squid rings. He examined it briefly before laying into it with some hearty teeth-mashing.

"So, are you going to have dinner with future-Emperor-man too?" he asked, changing the subject.(9) "He must be even more important than _me_."

"No. _That_ is Captain Steffan and Jauffre's job. Besides, he seems kinda boring."

"What? No, he's... Martin's really nice," Templar finished lamely. _Well, he is, once he stopped being an annoying little-_

"And boring."

"Okay. A bit. But sometimes a bit of boredom is good."

"Yes. It is."

"Is that a sneaky reference to my eloquent conversation?"

"No. It isn't." Caroline looked at the clock over on the far wall. "Well, we've still got a few hours. Now, tell me Templar – exactly _why_ did you agree to do all of... this? Not dinner, but as a whole."

"I honestly don't know," he answered after a while. "It's my destiny, apparently. I never stopped to think about it."

"Because you felt compelled to help, in other words. Because you're 'nice.'"

"I suppose."

"Well, thank _Akatosh_ for that. That's your character assessment done, and in record time. I suggest we start eating, before the food gets cold," she finished abruptly.

"Agreed. I think the author is trying to find a spot to end this conversation, and is failing miserably."

---

Time passed. There was an awkward moment with the crab.

---

"Thanks for everything."

"Thanks for paying."

"Well, I couldn't exactly make you pay after..."  
"I believe the word you're looking for is 'forcing'."

"...after _coercing_ you to come. Besides, you're poor."

The skies had cleared, and the stars twinkled in the great void. The moon of Masser was a giant orange orb looming just above the horizon.

"Come over to the warehouse again tomorrow. We might be able to sort that book out," the Lieutenant said, all business again.

"I will."

"The first steps have come and gone, and now we just have to stay on our feet. Choose the right roads."

_Picking up momentum, ready for a crash…_

She leaned towards him and brushed his cheek, her fingers delicate and soft. "Eyelash," she murmured.

And then she stepped away again. "See you tomorrow."

"See you."

She walked off. About half-way down the street she turned, saw him standing there, and waved at him airily.

Templar couldn't help but notice that she had rather pretty blue eyes.

---

His mum tugged him along, her clammy hand gripping his own with almost painful force. Dad was up ahead, barging through the bushes. There were cries and shouts coming from behind them, strange sounds, crackling leaves. Bran tried to look backwards but couldn't see anything in the darkness. _They're out there, those monsters, I stopped believing in monsters ages ago. But they're real._

The black silhouettes of trees flashed past on either side. His legs were tired, but he kept running, his mother kept pulling, hard, so hard-

He slipped on a patch of wet leaves and felt his feet go out from under him. He landed on his back, head slamming into the dirt. _OW!_ His eyes watered, but he didn't call out.

"Bran! Bran, get up!" Jolie whispered, tugging at him again.

"Mum, please, I..." But he found himself getting to his feet all the same, continuing that headlong dash through the forest. They _had_ to almost be at the town now, almost there, but the thing was – they were leading the monsters there with them.

But suddenly they stopped. Dad was up ahead, crouching in the dirt, listening for the things that were chasing them. Summer was with him, a hazy grey shape with bright yellow eyes. _I bet he's scared too._

A branch cracked somewhere to their left.

"Let's go!" Dad led them in the other direction, along a little stream, over a fallen log that was smeared with green slime. Starlight filtered through the canopy but it was still far too dark to be running so quickly. His teachers always told him to slow down at school.

Something splashed through the water and screamed _AAARGEHGR!_ and suddenly there was a dark shape ahead of them. It had long claws, and thin, bony legs, and lots and lots of-

Dad pushed them all back into the forest, pulled ahead and became a vague shape ten metres in front, half-hidden by the thick foliage. Bran wanted to shout '_wait!' _but didn't have the breath. Twigs whipped at his face, tore at his hair. His breath was steaming in the cold night air. Through a little grassy clearing. Mum was behind him now, but she was still close. Until-

She screamed. Bran stopped. One of those _things_ had her, was holding her by the leg. This one was almost man-shaped, except it wore some sort of freaky crimson and black armour, with spikes everywhere. It had red eyes, and a big sword.

"Let go of her..." he said, voice faltering. "Let – GO!"

"Bran, just run, don't worry about me, just-"

He noticed that she was crying, wet streaks running down her face. His legs, somehow, wouldn't move.

"Please, run!" she shouted, pleading. She tried to pull herself away, wriggle through the grass, but the thing had her and was walking towards him, closer and closer. But why were they here, _why_ were they doing this? Summer was ghostly grey, barking, barking, barking, making his brain hurt.

His mother's fists beat against its armour, blood dripping from where the jagged metal tore her skin.

"BRAN, get to the village! Do as I tell you!" It was his father's voice now, with such an air of command that he couldn't help but obey. And suddenly Eduard was there in the clearing, shoving him into the trees. His legs stumbled along, and he took one last look and saw his dad walking towards that thing, seeming utterly small and helpless against something so _evil_. _There are more of them, I can hear more of them coming._

"You have to get help, we'll be alright! Run!"

He set off through the trees, trying to get away, somewhere safe, to get someone to fix everything. And so he ran, putting his hands over his ears so he wouldn't hear the...

---

The bed was nice and warm. His eyes were firmly shut. It was quiet. Sunlight was falling across the sheets in slanted golden bars.

Templar was in the wonderful space between sleep and wakefulness, and having an interesting dream.

_The crab was leering at him, the pincers snapping at the air with loud clacks. They were on the beach, by the Imperial City docks, seagulls wheeling in the grey air. Suddenly, the crab grew larger, and larger..._

_And larger, until it fairly towered above him, a twenty-metre mass of chitinous shell and soft white flesh that was standing in the waves. Then he saw that it had something clasped in its mandibles, something that was kicking and screaming. It was-_

There was a flash of something. Someone's face. Black hair.

"_I'll save you, Lieutenant!" he yelled, drawing his sword. He ran towards the crab, crashing through the water, but he was getting slower and slower as the water got higher and higher._

_Then the crab spoke, mandibles jiggling about. "First steps are always the hardest..." Lieutenant Caroline was dropped and fell into the water with a splash._

_Suddenly, a woman appeared, hovering in the air before him, feet almost touching the water. "Yes! That's it, Templar! Keep that thought!" she shouted. The woman had… a faint blue glow. She pointed at the crab with one outstretched arm, and it promptly exploded in a mass of bloody giblets. One of them flew straight towards him and slammed into his open mouth._

_The woman turned to look at him. "Oh, sorry. I thought you would have woken up by now-_

"AGAGABLEULGH!"

He floundered about in his bed, blankets and sheets tangling up even more, felt around the bedside table for the cup of water he'd put there last night. After a few seconds he found it, and quickly took several long gulps.

"Gods, I hope _that_ dream didn't mean anything." He sat up in the hotel bed. Already it was fading from his memory, the crab, the water

_(first steps are always the hardest)_

the Lieutenant, the woman in blue

_(first steps, i.e. first letters)_

who had then made the crab explode

_(first letters of each PARAGRAPH of the BOOK, Templar)_

and said something.

"First steps," he murmured softly. "Book. Book!"

He glanced around. "Book, book, book." The Commentaries were nowhere to be seen. He got up, walked over to the desk, looked under all the scribbled papers. "Hm." He turned around, and saw a black leather cover peeking out from under his bed. Templar dropped to the ground and snatched it up; Volume Three of Camoran's Commentaries. He flicked open to the first page, and noticed that the first letter of every paragraph was very ornate, a large, red, calligraphic image intertwined with vines and flowers. _I thought that was just traditional. Every old book has that sort of thing in it. _He began to read, picking out each red letter, turning the pages with shivering fingers. _I would say this was a red-letter day, if I knew what that actually meant, instead of just learning the phrase from the title of the second level of Half-Life 2._(10)

"**T**he… **O**ath… flickflickflick. **W**oe… **E**very… flick. **R**eader… **TOWER**!"

_BAMBAMBAM! _Someone knocked on the door, quite forcefully. Dust trickled down from the ceiling.

"Dammit!" He slammed the book shut and chucked it under the bed again.

_BAMBAMBAM! _The door rattled on its hinges.

"Coming!" He strode over the door and pulled it open.

"Templar, Templar, I think I've got it!"

Tar Meena almost fell into the room, stumbling forwards in a tangle of robes and reptilian mottled skin. She regained her balance and turned to face him, breathing heavily, head-spikes quivering with excitement.

"I figured it out this morning," she said hoarsely. "It's the first-"

He thought about finishing that sentence for her, but decided it would make her happier if he didn't.

"-paragraph of every word!" She looked around. "Word of every paragraph, I mean. Where's your copies?"

"Uh-" He leapt over to the bed again and swiped his hand around in the darkness under it. He came up with the four books of the commentaries and a heavy layer of dust.

"Where's the first one? Hurry, hurry!" The mage clapped her hands together.

He found it and gave it to her. She snatched it from his hands and began flipping through it. "I made some notes before I came, but in essence it tells you to go the one of the tombs in Green Emperor Way, when the 'tower touches the midday sun.'"

"That seems easy enough."

"I _knew_ it would be simple. Hiding in plain sight, I believe you humans call it. That Mankar Camoran…" She calmed down a little. "I had no idea running was so _exhausting_. Well, what are you going to do now?"

Templar thought for a moment. "I… am going to copy down the message and take it to the Blades right now."

Tar Meena scratched her head with one clawed hand. "Very well. I'll try and find out anything else I can on the Mythic Dawn." She turned to leave.

"Okay. Thanks, Tar Meena," Templar said. "You've been a big help."

"That's alright. My life hasn't been this interesting for months!" Her jaw twisted in a crude Argonian imitation of a smile, and she rushed out of the room, robes swishing about her.

Templar sat there silently for a moment. Then he began gathering his things, chucking all the books into a backpack, which he slung over one shoulder. He looked around the room, and decided to buckle on his sword-belt as an afterthought.

He walked out of the room and locked the door. As it clicked shut, he noticed a piece of paper taped to the wood. He reached out warily and plucked it off with a slight tearing sound.

'_For Mr. Templar Estantesec:_

_Meet me under the dragon in Talos Plaza, as soon as you can. There are things we need to discuss. My skin glows with a faint blue tinge._

_Sincerely, a Friend.'_

"A friend," he murmured to himself. Then, some words began to appear before his eyes, coming to life on the paper in a delicate, cursive script.

'_P.S. RUN. There have been new developments.'_

He stood there for a moment.

'_P.S.S. Seriously. NOW."_

---

Templar brushed past a group of filthy-looking beggars and glanced up to his left. There was the dragon, its stone head rearing above the crowds that filled the Talos Plaza.

"Couldn't this have happened _yesterday?_" he asked himself. "I had nothing _on_ yesterday." He was panting slightly from the jog; it was a fair distance from the Elven Gardens to his meeting place, and the streets never seemed to go where you wanted them to. "Run, run, why did I have to _run_."

An ornate archway curved high above his head, and he passed out of its shadow into the Plaza itself. It was a gigantic cobbled circle, ringed by elegant stone buildings with columned facades, a few of them topped with giant green domes. Wide streets led from the plaza at the four points of the compass, and the ever-present White-Gold tower loomed behind him, casting its long shadow across the city.

The square (circle?) wasn't too busy this early in the morning, so he was able to make his way towards the dragon with ease. There was a small fountain off to his right; people were gathered around it, looking at something in the water, which sparkled in the sun. Suddenly, he realised that he _really_ needed to go to the toilet.(11)

The statue was mounted on a stone pedestal and had been captured just as it was about to take flight, legs bent, wings half-unfurled, head looking up at the clouds. It was a brilliant carving, perhaps ten metres in height, though decades of wind and rain had begun to erode the smooth grey rock. It was encircled by six thick pillars and iron streetlamps, with a small garden-bed of purple-flowered bushes and some park benches completing the picture.

Templar stared up at the dragon for a moment, and then began looking for someone that was... glowing blue.

There were certainly lots of normal people. Bretons and Nords, Redguards and Imperials, Elves and Argonians, sitting, talking or walking.

"Here, Templar."

A woman, sitting on one of the benches, looking at him. Pale white skin, with snowy blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. High cheekbones and finely-chiselled features. Red lips and blue eyes. He noticed some sort of pulsing glow around her, but it was almost unnoticeable in the bright sunlight.

Then she stood up, and snapped her fingers. And the world... stopped.

_Click!_

People froze where they stood, mid-conversation, halfway through a stride, animated gestures set in stone. One man was eating a sandwich. The fountain's sparkle was fixed in place, water-droplets seemingly set in stone.

A leaf was suspended in mid-air before Templar's face, blown across the plaza by a brisk wind that no longer existed. He stared at it for a moment, before turning back to the woman. She brushed past a child who was kneeling on the ground, picking up a dropped coin, her footsteps eerily loud in the oppressive silence.

Her light blue robe swished slightly as she came to a stop before him. "Templar Estantesec," she said softly. "Or should I say... no, I shouldn't."

Templar was still slightly surprised at this current development. _And who are you?_

"Who I am is not important. It is, in fact, better that you don't know. My family would be _terribly_ angry if they knew I was here. But I'd better get on with it, as we don't have much time."

Templar hiccupped. "I thought we had all of the time in the world, since, you know – everything's frozen." He noticed that she had weird little knobs sticking up through her robe, just behind her shoulders.

"Time gets faster and faster the further you get from us. It should be about normal outside the Imperial city. Stopping the entire world would be slightly drastic, and the Gods frown on such things."

"How does—"

"It doesn't matter how it works." She leaned closer. "What matters is that Mankar Camoran is planning to take the Amulet to his Paradise thirty-two hours from now."

"His Para—"

"Not important. All you need to know is that the Amulet will be out of reach very soon, and that is not good for any of us."

Templar thought for a moment, and decided to just go with the flow. "So, I'm meant to trust you, somehow find the Mythic Dawn headquarters before tomorrow night, and get the Amulet of Kings. Which will probably involve killing Mankar Camoran."

"Yes. But you _do_ trust me, Templar."

He suddenly found that he did trust this mysterious woman. Yes, he trusted her with his life, in fact, and could almost-

"Sorry. That was bad of me." She sighed, a melancholy sigh.

The feeling passed. The fact that there was a beautiful woman who had carelessly stopped time standing in front of him, telling him things she shouldn't have known came back in full force.

"Okay, I'm going to help you here. The Mythic Dawn are located in the Lake Arrius caverns. I can mark the entrance-" She stopped abruptly, and stared for a moment. "I'm not allowed to tell you that – sometimes I just hate my sister. What I _will_ tell you is that the tomb is in the tower's shadow. On the side of the tower where its shadow is, where the tip touches the midday sun. And 'the midday sun' only lasts for one minute after twelve, so be _quick_. One chance is all you have."

"I think, at this stage, knowing who you are would be a real help."

"No. I can't. We're not supposed to interfere, but I'm calling this a preventative measure. Though-" She stopped again, with that same distant look in her eyes. "No. You have to hurry. Quickly, quickly, quickly. The Blades are moving faster than I thought they would. They're going to try and reach the gate by nightfall."

"Okay. What the _hell_ is going on here?"

"To attack the Mythic Dawn headquarters you are going to need the help of the Blades. Going on your own is asking for death, but time, time is too short. You have to stop them. The gate in Leyawiin is secondary. I wish I could've had a wider radius..."

"Leya—"

"Just run, Templar. The Blades _cannot_ go to Leyawiin. You have to get the Amulet, because there will be terrible consequences. Now _go_. Oh, by the way, I think you deserve to know your name. Real name, that is. You've come this far – oh, by the _blood of—_"

She turned away from him and began running. Templar could have sworn something _flexed_ under her robe, something that looked strangely like a pair of wings.

The woman vanished, and the world started again. The leaf spiralled to the floor, crunching under someone's boot. The sandwich man began chewing with relish.

Templar sighed and began to run.

---

He opened the door of the Blades' warehouse and found a hive of activity. A dozen men and women had formed up on one wall, all of the Blades he'd met in the sewers and then some. They each carried packs and were clad in full armour, carrying swords or bows. The Lieutenant stood before them, finishing off some sort of speech.

"—the Chestnut Stables will provide horses for the trip." She noticed him standing in the doorway, and turned back to her troops. "Let's go, people. The daedra aren't going to wait for us."

The Blades began making their way over to the door. Templar stood aside as Caroline strode

over to him.

"I'm sorry for not telling you, but an Oblivion Gate has opened near Leyawiin."

Templar grimaced. "Ah. Okay. Well, I just had an interesting meeting with someone who said that Camoran's planning to take the Amulet of Kings somewhere tomorrow night. They stressed that it was rather urgent. As in, 'we're kind of stuffed if he succeeds' urgent."

"Well, we can't exactly-"

"I figured out the message hidden in the Commentaries. I'll know the location of the headquarters by noon tomorrow, and then we can get the Amulet back."

"I know what Jauffre has said," the Lieutenant began, "but we're going to Leyawiin on _his_ orders. Amulet or not, we can't let another Kvatch happen. This is thousands of people we're talking about here."

"But-" A Blade stepped past, glancing at them briefly.

"No matter where Camoran takes it, I'm sure we can get it back. The Blades are quick, we're well-trained. This is happening _now_, and we can stop it."

"With the Amulet we can stop any more Oblivion gates opening _forever_. Isn't that worth something?"

"We can't take the chance! A whole city is not worth something that someone – who you still haven't explained – has told you may or may not happen tomorrow!"_ No matter what I say, she's going to go south. She's too determined._

_Don't say it. Dooon't say it. _"I'll go myself, then," he answered firmly. _Said it._

She softened. "Don't go, Templar. I've got someone dealing with it. Baurus managed to get the location of the Dawn headquarters, and he's organising a strike. If you can find him, tell him it's urgent."

"And where exactly is Baurus? Did he tell you where the Mythic Dawn were?"

"No. But we're going. We can't just abandon fifty thousand people. End of discussion."

"There's only twelve of you."

"Yes. There's only twelve. But it took only two in Kvatch... You should know what a difference twelve could make," she said, almost pleadingly.

_She probably has friends there. She probably had friends in Kvatch. Has and had, only one letter's difference._

_You cannot let them go. Thirty-two hours... _

"Fine," Templar said eventually. "Go and win a battle."

Caroline turned away. "I'm sorry, Templar." She waited for the last of the Blades to go, and then walked out herself. "Close the door when you leave."

_Will the problems ever stop?_ Templar stood there in the middle of the deserted warehouse, wondering what on earth to do now.

---

Dawn broke across the land, the first rays of the sun chasing away the shadows of the night, falling upon a grey-white creature that loped along the leafy ground...

A high-pitched scream broke across the vast green forest. Summer raised his head at the sound, but there was nothing in the sky apart from rain and clouds. So he lowered his gaze again, and resumed his determined search for his lost master.

---

Footnotes are fun, hey. But I'll probably never use them again.

1. The Retienes do exist (in a computerised sense) but Bran doesn't, because there aren't any children in Cyrodiil. Apparently.

2. I know almost nothing about farming, since my parents are both veterinarians. So I'm just making this up.

3. Yes, they do say 'What's up' in Cyrodiil.

4. And they also say awesome.

5. Jolie is a stupid name. So is Eduard, come to think of it. However, Bran is a very nice name, stolen from a... certain fantasy series.

6. The Retiene family has recently contacted 'Mary Sue' syndrome.

7. Tremble before my powers of description!

8. Perhaps this is a horror movie cliché situation. But it still works, right?

9. Which should be obvious, considering the conversation has moved from assassination to dinner. But the sentence felt jarring without 'changing the subject' in there, so... it stays. There's my editing process for you. Tomorrow I'll probably think it should be removed.

10. Checking Wikipedia, checking Wikipedia... oh, apparently it means a day of special significance, such as saint's days, feasts and other holy and important days. It originated in medieval manuscripts, which often marked initial capitals and highlighted words in red ink, known as rubrics. That's actually kind of appropriate.

11. I do believe this is the first time I've mentioned toilets. Hm. Probably not, actually, now that I think about it.

12. This was a 'placeholder' screaming noise of random button-mashing, but I kept it in. Hmm... I mean, why am I telling you this? It's unnecessary and immersion-breaking and inconsequential...


	30. Greetings, Novitiate

_Author's Note: So, here's another chapter... six months overdue. I realise that this story has kind of died over the last 18 months, and that its style has changed quite a bit over the years. Oh well._

_And I hate to sound like a beggar, but if you ARE still reading, would you be able to do a quick review? They're quite encouraging, and you can be critical if you want. That makes it encouraging _and_ useful. _

Greetings, Novitiate

_**The Tomb of Prince Camarril, Green Emperor Way, The Imperial City, Hearthfire 9 3E433**_

Five minutes to noon. Templar stood before the tomb of Prince Camarril, amidst the verdant emerald leafiness of Green Emperor Way. White-Gold Tower was perhaps fifty metres away, the domed lower levels merging into the tower that rose impossibly high, dwarfing the city with its immensity.

The tomb itself was unremarkable – just a squat hexagonal construction of weathered stone, surrounded by a hundred other mausoleums, obelisks and gravestones. Each face of the hexagon contained a small arched recess, bordered by thin columns. However – from what Templar could see – when it was midday, the tip of the tower's shadow would just pass over this particular resting place. Possibly. He wasn't quite sure what to expect when it did, but it couldn't be too spectacular; otherwise, the other mourners would have noticed something odd before now.

The sun was high overhead. Almost directly above, in fact. He was shielded from the worst of it by the many trees that had been planted in the graveyard, but could still feel the humidity.

He stepped closer, feet crunching on fallen leaves. Each window-shaped depression on the outside of the tomb was decorated with some sort of carving – the sun, a forest, a group of people. Perhaps the most intriguing was a 'map' of Cyrodiil, a crude outline of the state showing the major settlements and waterways. A lone creeper wound its way across the stone, its tip just touching the Imperial City.

A bell sang out across the still air with twelve echoing rings. Templar looked up, shielding his eyes; sure enough, from where he was standing, the tip of White-Gold Tower was touching the sun.

He looked back down, and was vaguely surprised to see that the map was glowing a faint red. Except for one radiant point in the north-east, which was outlined by a scarlet four-pointed star. _Not too subtle at all, actually._

He hurriedly dug out his own map and held it up next to the tomb, trying to figure out exactly where the star was pointing... _just north of Cheydinhal_. He checked the carving again, and then the map. The glowing outlines seemed to be pointing to the shores of a small lake. _Lake Arrius. Damn, I don't have anything to mark this with. Oh well, I suppose I'll have to just _– sigh – _trust my memory. _

Thirty seconds later the tomb stopped glowing. The shadows moved on from their enchanted positions and it became just another grey, inauspicious resting place.

Okay. So I take the Ring Road for around thirty kilometres, until facing eastwards, then take the Blue Road for another twenty until we get to Cheydinhal. Then go directly north through the farmlands and forest until I hit Lake Arrius. On the way, think up a plan for invading the Dawn headquarters." He folded up the map and slipped it back into his pocket. "I am honestly tired of walking."

He set off late that afternoon, after getting his steel armour repaired at a store called the Fighting Chance. _Good armour is sure to give me a fighting chance, after all. Ha ha. _He'd briefly considered getting something new, but decided he'd scab something off the Blades when he next got back to Cloud Ruler Temple. There was also the fact that he was flat out of money.

The Ring Road meandered around the shores of Lake Rumare, past glittering blue waters, slowly circling to the north, and then the east. Up and down hills, between rocky outcroppings and groves of trees that cast darkening shadows as the sun set. Past welcoming farmhouses and through ancient forts. As the hours went by he saw less and less fellow travellers, until the only lights were the stars above and the occasional bobbing torch of a patrolling Legionnaire.

_It's good that I like my own company._

The crickets chirped in agreement.

Before leaving, he'd made one final trip to the Imperial City sewers, back to the place where he and Baurus had confronted the Mythic Dawn 'sponsor'. His arm twinged slightly with the thought. Off to the side of that room, through another door, had been a small Dawn hideout, containing a few sagging beds and crates of food, with red banners hanging from the walls. The Blades had found nothing of interest, but he had wanted to check – just in case – for any information that might make his one-man-army job easier. However, there was nothing of use; just a few more copies of the Mythic Dawn Commentaries and a whole bunch of crimson robes.

He stopped at a small campsite by the ruins of Fort Chalman, perhaps half-way to his destination. His shoulders ached from the straps of his pack – _I mean, seriously, I have to carry a full set of steel armour, a sword and shield, a bow, arrows, potions, assorted documentation, a bedroll, food and the occasional lockpick in there _– but sleep came quickly and deeply. Which is nice.

A cold breakfast. Rolling farmlands, lush forests, and suchlike. Some more footsteps, in a general north-eastwards direction. By midday Cheydinhal was looming on the horizon, the thick city walls poking and brown sloping rooves poking above the treetops. The road was rather busy now, and there seemed to be a constant stream of important-looking officials going in the other direction. Interestingly, one group was carrying an Akaviri flag; but there other things to worry about, so he checked his map and took the next trail to the left.

The path was situated on the side of a small hill, and was half-overgrown with thick green grass. He ducked under the trailing branches of a weeping willow as the path began cutting up the hill, through a cluster of blue pines. The earth was covered in rocks and ferns, and to his right he could see a fairly large building through the trees. _Knights of the Thorn Lodge, apparently. Means I'm on the right track._

Slowly, the trail became more and more faint, until it finally petered out half-way along a small ridge. The forest became much denser up ahead, but was still fairly inviting thanks to the warm autumn sunshine and patches of ground slowly became steeper again.

Templar had been trudging uphill for perhaps an hour when it started drizzling. Water began dripping down from above, and the grass became treacherously slippery. The green oaks and maples were replaced by yellowing ash trees and stunted pines. The ground was rockier, with jagged, exposed boulders making life difficult. It was a much bleaker landscape.

Until eventually, he came to a lake.

It was two lakes, really, one of them higher than the other, connected by a small waterfall. The water was clear, and a few deer were drinking from the far bank. Some fallen branches floated on the surface. The scene was quite pretty, in a harsh sort of way.

_So, where to look? And I should probably start being cautious. _He began skirting the bank, searching for any giveaways of human habitation.

The upper lake was much thinner than the lower one, and was fairly barren. He used some convenient stepping-stones to cross the river that fed it, and began walking around the other side. He was just passing the waterfall when he noticed a small track that had been cut through the scrub, curving up out of sight behind a rock formation. He decided to investigate.

The track had almost overrun by a prickly grass that scratched at his legs. After perhaps twenty metres, it stopped; there, between two boulders, was a dark hole that led into the side of the hill – _well, more like the side of the mountain. _It was covered by a wooden door, which had a small symbol etched upon it. A rising sun.

_Mythic Dawn, rising sun. Gotcha!_

Templar's brief jubilation was quickly smothered as he assessed his options. _No guards outside, which is good. However, there will be guards inside. Most definitely. So how the hell do I go about this? _He looked at the sun, which was slowly sinking towards the western horizon. _I can take a few hours to prepare, at least. That strange-blue-woman-who-is-most-definitely-NOT-a-plot-device-and-will-be-fully-explained-in-due-course said thirty six hours about, hm, thirty hours ago._

_

* * *

_

_Templar hasn't come up with a plan, but I hope you have, dear reader! Please note: these paths will carry on into the next chapter, so if you choose path 1 in this chapter, go to path 1 in the next chapter. And so on._

_If you try to sneak into the Mythic Dawn headquarters by disguising yourself as a cultist, choose path 1._

_If you try to sneak into the Mythic Dawn headquarters by causing general mayhem, choose path 2._

_

* * *

_

1

With a slightly shaking hand, Templar opened the door; on the other side was a narrow, natural cave. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, he could see tree roots dangling from the ceiling, and bone-white toadstools growing amongst pools of dank water. He hadn't been quite sure what to expect, but 'cave' seemed to fit the secret location idea well enough.

He stepped through and carefully shut the door behind him. The tunnel sloped gently downwards, and he could see firelight glinting from around a corner.

_In the enemy's lair..._

_ 'Trepidation' does not even _begin_ to describe how I feel right now._

The passageway soon opened up into a larger cavern, stalactites hanging from the ceiling, the stone floor worn smooth. At the far end, by a brightly-burning brazier, stood a man in a red hooded robe. His eyes quickly flicked over to the new arrival, but his hands remained clasped behind his back.

Templar was about to duck back out of sight when he realised that would look more than a little suspicious. _Calm. You're as calm as – as a tortoise. Or something._

Templar crossed the interminable distance, one step at a time.

_Realistically, the only people who come here are initiates, right? They won't just kill me on sight?_

Shadows flickered across the walls of the cave. His footsteps echoed slightly, his heart pounded. Now that he was closer, he could see the man was guarding a door, flanked by two red tapestries.

_Here we go. _

He came to a stop before the doorkeeper.

"Dawn is breaking," the man said serenely.

"I look forward to a new day," Templar blandly replied. It appeared to be good enough.

"Welcome, brother. The hour is late, but the Master still has need for willing hands."

Templar took a few shallow breaths. He realised that he'd never really been this close to a Mythic Dawn agent before without trying to kill them.

"You may pass into the Shrine. Harrow will take you to the Master for your initiation into the service of Lord Dagon."

_Initiation? That sounds… problematic. It's almost as if they were expecting someone._

"Do not tarry. The time of Preparation is almost over. The time of Cleansing is near."

Templar licked his lips, trying to wet his dry mouth. "My cleansing or the world's cleansing?" he asked, immediately regretting it.

The doorkeeper smiled. "Both." He turned and unlocked the door, revealing another thin passageway. He gestured at Templar to go through, and shut the door behind him.

_Shit-shit-shit-shit_-

_Do or do not. There is no try._

He strode onwards, and almost screamed as another robed figure rounded the corner. This one had the pinched face and pointed ears of an elf, and shoulder-length black hair.

"I am Harrow," the elf said in a slightly nasal tone. "You must be our... new arrival. By following the Path of Dawn hidden in the writings of the Master, you have earned a place among the chosen."

Templar plastered a smile across his face.

"You have arrived at an opportune time. You may have the honour of being initiated into the Order by the Master himself."

"By Master, you mean Mankar-"

"Yes." Harrow silenced him with a red-eyed glare.

_Just checking. Not my ideal Thursday evening, to be honest._

"As a member of the order of the Mythic Dawn, everything you need will be provided for you from the Master's bounty. You must be prepared to bequeath your possessions, and wear only an initiate's robe."

"I will do as you ask." The smile quivered a little. _Should have thought of that._

"Very good." Harrow turned, and continued through the cavern. Wall hangings, emblazoned with rising suns, shone in the torchlight.

"And what about the Amulet?" he added, trying to sound casual.

Harrow stopped for a second, then kept walking. "All will be revealed to you."

There was another door at the end, which Harrow opened. Templar followed, trying to keep a mental map in his head. With every step he became a little less jumpy. _No going back. I can do this._

Another large area lay beyond. At its centre was a square platform made of stone blocks, appearing out of place in the natural surroundings. At each corner was a flaming brazier, and above each side were more tapestries, dangling from the roof of the cave. Shafts of light streamed down through two holes in the ceiling. Harrow led him along the left wall, to an iron gate that barred the entrance to another grotto.

There was a single guard at the gate, who stepped aside as Harrow approached. Templar saw another Mythic Dawn emerge from a third door on the other side of the room.

They continued through. This was a wider passageway, and at one point the ceiling was supported by a thick stone column. As they walked, Templar heard the two guards begin to talk. One had a woman's voice.

"Dawn is breaking."

"When will the Master order the Cleansing to begin? Everything is ready. The door is unlocked. We just need to throw it open for Lord Dagon to enter."

"Patience. We will see Lord Dagon walk the earth with our own eyes. Nothing can stop us now… The preparations are complete."

_This is goddamn eerie. A legion of doomsday cultists hanging around in a secret cavern for hundreds of years, plotting the end of the world - and here I am, right in the middle of it. Deep breaths._

_Shit-shit-shit-shit-_

They passed through yet another door. Templar was starting to lose his bearings in the warren of tunnels. The ground was beginning to slope upward. After twenty metres the passage turned a sharp right, and nestled in the corner was a small shrine to Dagon. One Dawn agent was kneeling before the altar, bathed in reddish firelight.

More stalactites clung to the ceiling, and pebbles crunched underfoot. Through another door, left this time, which opened up into a small room. A few tables and chairs were set up in an alcove, and a shelf of books and potions leaned against one wall. The low rock ceiling made it feel claustrophobic.

Two Mythic Dawn agents hurried past them. _To the ceremony, probably_. There was a passageway straight ahead and another to the right. Harrow went straight ahead.

After squeezing through a particularly thin fissure, they ended up in a dead end, a roughly square room with a giant stalagmite in the centre. Crates, barrels and chests lined the walls, which were lit by a few feeble candles. Two bedrolls in the corner, a shelf of pots and jars and human skulls, a stool and couldn't help but wonder where the skulls had come from. _Previous spies, perhaps?_

Harrow knelt down and rummaged around in one of the crates, eventually pulling out a neatly-folded red robe. Templar took it with sweaty hands.

"Put this on. I will wait outside."

With that, Harrow turned and left.

_Now would be a great time to bop him on the head and be done with it. However, I still don't know where the Amulet is._

Templar sighed, a sinking feeling in his stomach. _Looks like we'll have to go all the way. _He put down his pack and began undressing, feeling more vulnerable by the second.

He stuffed his clothes into his bag and put on the brown tunic and leggings that Harrow had given him. Then he picked up the robe, sliding it over his shoulders, tying the brown sash around his waist. There was a gold clasp for the hood which he clicked shut, and then raised the hood over his head.

_I wish I had a dagger. Something that would be easy to hide. _Templar put his pack behind some barrels, keeping it out of sight, and walked out to rejoin Harrow. _Okay, calm. Ignore the caves, ignore the people. You'll get out of this._

The elf looked at him approvingly, the perfect example of a willing convert.

"Greetings, novitiate. Our Master is almost ready to begin his ceremony with the Amulet of Kings."

"The Amulet?" Templar asked again. He was feeling slightly lightheaded from the adrenalin.

"With your sacrifice, you will become a true member of the Dawn, and help our Master summon the Lord."

"Sacrifice?" _This is worrying. _

"Only with blood can true bonds be formed, and only with blood may our Lord come to walk this earth again. As you and our Master drink the sacrifice's blood" – Harrow shuddered slightly with pleasure – "you will become the most honoured initiate in centuries."

Harrow began walking back the way they'd come.

_ The Amulet, a sacrifice and a summoning. _"I suppose it's good I'm here to stuff things up," he murmured.

"What?" Harrow asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering aloud…"

They walked back the way they'd come, through the small room with the desks, through winding passageways, past the small shrine. Towards the Amulet, he hoped. Acolytes kept hurrying past, preparing for… something. Something big and ominous.

The adrenalin coursing through his system was beginning to wear off, leaving cold hard fear in its place.

* * *

2

Templar put his ear to the door and heard only silence. _Going into an enemy stronghold blind is not the best idea, but I like it a hell of a lot more than trying to lie my way in._

He slowly pushed the door open and looked inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust. _A cave, by the looks of it. Hopefully a dark one. _It sloped gently downwards and he began to walk along the rocky ground, as quietly as possible. Tree roots brushed against his face, and there was a musty smell in the air. He'd left his pack outside, only taking his weapons and some potions – just the essentials. As he descended it gradually grew brighter; firelight from around a bend in the tunnel was reflecting off the stone.

He stopped at the corner and crouched down, wincing as his knees cracked, and slowly peered around into the space beyond. _If there was ever a time to be a stealthy, stone-cold badass, now is the time, Templar._

It was a large, roughly circular cavern, studded with stalactites, stalagmites and fallen boulders. At the far end was a large brazier, providing the light. There was also a door, flanked by two red wall hangings, with a lone Mythic Dawn guard standing beside it. The guard wasn't staring directly at him, but it would still be hard to sneak around unnoticed.

He ducked back around the corner, and took the steel longbow off his back, along with a single arrow. He peered out again, bow at the ready – the guard was standing with his hands behind his back, still unaware of him.

_Nock – draw – aim – loose –_

Suddenly, the door on the other side of the room opened. Templar jerked backwards but didn't fire, staying in the shadows.

"Dawn is breaking," the doorkeeper said.

"Greet the new day," the newcomer replied. They were both wearing red robes, but the second Dawn agent was without a hood, and had a sharp elfin face. "Keep watch, brother. Soon our Master will begin the ceremony." The elf walked over to a jumbled rockfall along the left wall, and did something with his hands that Templar couldn't quite make out. Suddenly, the rocks slid aside on some sort of hidden mechanism, revealing a secret entryway. The elf stepped through, and a few seconds later the rockfall creaked back into place, looking perfectly natural.

_Next time, learn a night vision spell. Or maybe one that lets you see through walls_. The doorkeeper was still calmly standing guard, and Templar didn't like his chances of getting around behind the man.

But then he had an idea. _Magic time._

With a slight hiss, the fire beside the guard suddenly went out, plunging the cave into darkness. Templar scampered across the cavern floor.

The Mythic Dawn agent was a vague outline in front of him, trying to relight the brazier. Templar pulled out his sword, rose up quickly, tensed his arms and smashed him in the head with the hilt – _better to not leave any dead bodies. _The man crumpled to the ground with a quiet groan. Templar dragged him over to a small hollow in the ground, hoping it would keep the body hidden for long enough.

There was a key on the guard's belt, which Templar used to unlock the door in front of him. "That went remarkably well," he said to himself, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

The opening revealed a winding grotto, torches and red tapestries spaced evenly along its length. It was currently deserted, but curved to the right about twenty metres in.

He quickly made his way along it, sword drawn, ready to run at any moment. His feet scraped across the stone. Around the corner, there was another thick wooden door.

He took a deep breath and lay down, trying to look under it, but could only see an uneven stone floor. The only sound that reached his ears was the crackle of burning wood.

Templar stood for a moment, feeling slightly sick. "I am _not_ going to be stopped by a door," he muttered. After a few seconds he turned the handle and opened it, as slowly and silently as he could.

_No immediate threats_. _That's good. _He breathed out. The cavern before him contained some sort of altar at its centre – a square platform made of thick granite blocks. Two shafts of light bathed the altar in weak sunshine, descending through two fissures in the cavern roof. At each corner was a brightly-burning brazier, and more tapestries hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly in the warm air.

There was a humanoid shadow emerging from behind a thick stone pillar in the far left corner. Templar edged to the side a little, and saw a single red-robed figure guarding an iron gate. There was another door along the wall to the right, much closer to him, but Templar didn't fancy trying to open it in full view of the guard.

As he watched, crouching, a second Mythic Dawn acolyte came through the closer door, locked it behind him, and walked across the room towards the other guard.

"Dawn is breaking."

"When will the Master order the Cleansing to begin? Everything is ready…"

Templar saw his chance. While the two were talking, they wouldn't be focusing on him. He hoped.

He tip-toed across to the door, staying in the shadows, and tried to insert the key.

It didn't work. He tried the handle. _Definitely locked._

"…the door is unlocked. We just need to throw it open for Lord Dagon to enter."

He scuttled back to his original position.

_Okay. I can either take both of them out, or try and make them go away with some sort of distraction._

"Patience. We will see Lord Dagon walk the earth with our own eyes. Nothing can stop us now…"

He picked up a smooth pebble from the floor and threw it across the room. It clinked off the wall and fell to the ground.

"…the preparations are complete…"

_Nope? Damn._ _Magic time. _

_Water flowing, around the fire, in my fingers… _One of the braziers extinguished itself, smoke curling towards the ceiling.

The two Mythic Dawn agents stopped talking. Templar began edging around towards the iron gate, trying to take cover among the stalagmites that lined the rim of the cave.

Another of the fires went out. The two guards began walking over to the stone platform. One of them crouched down, peering at the now-unlit braziers.

Templar was at the gate. He grasped the bars with shaking hands. _Better be unlocked, better be unlocked. _It was. _Better not creak, better not creak. _It didn't creak.

He slipped through and closed it behind him, rushing up the next passageway as fast as he dared. It was gradually leading upwards, and he almost slipped on a small ridge. It ended in yet another door.

_How the hell am I going to find the Amulet of Kings in this labyrinth?_

The door was open. The passageway continued, becoming narrower, the jagged rock ceiling becoming lower overhead. Templar drew his bow, putting an arrow to the string, just in case. He passed a small shrine of some sort, the walls covered in images of golden, rising suns.

Someone rounded the corner ahead of him. A red-robed woman. In the thin passageway, there was nowhere to hide.

He fired. The arrow thudded into the acolyte's chest and she keeled over, eyes glazed. Blood began turning her clothes a darker shade of red.

Templar stood there for a moment, shocked.

Running footsteps, coming closer.

He drew another arrow.

Another Dawn agent rounded the corner and fell to his knees beside the body, too surprised to move.

He fired, the arrow slamming into the man's neck. He gurgled softly and fell to the floor. Blood was pooling around the two corpses.

Templar felt like he was going to be sick. _Doesn't matter. Just find the Amulet. _He tried not to look at the bodies as he stepped over them. _F—ck. So much for stealth._

He pulled a third arrow from his quiver. The tunnel led to a small room filled with tables and chairs. Shelves of books and potions lined the walls, lit by flickering candles. There was a passageway directly ahead, and another to the right. He crouched down beside a crate, pondering his options. Things were, to say the least, rapidly getting out of hand.

_*Scritch*_

The sound of boots scraping on stone. Templar glanced around the room, but couldn't see any movement. He rose to his feet cautiously.

A figure stepped into sight, crimson robe swirling about his feet, one hand raised and crackling with energy. Templar threw himself to the right as the lightning bolt leapt from the mage's hand, slicing past his face. He struck the ground on his shoulder, the impact making his hand contract, loosing the arrow on his bow which sparked off the stone floor of the cave. Rolling to his feet he drew his sword.

The man in the red robe drew his own blade, angling himself towards Templar. He thought about retaliating with a bolt of his own, but the room was so cramped he'd probably hit himself as well.

"Greetings, _novitiate_," the figure said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Templar realised that it was the same elf that he'd seen back at the entrance. "Your initiation could be... fatal."

_No time like the present._

Templar leapt to the attack. The elf blocked and countered. The ringing of steel on steel echoed on the stony walls, the two swords shining in the candlelight. His opponent fended off every attack in perfect balance, his blade licking out to open a shallow cut on Templar's cheek. Templar swayed back and sent a vicious slashing blow towards the elf's belly. The red-clad swordsman neatly sidestepped.

"I'd say you were better than average,' he told Templar. "Your balance is good, but you are a little stiff in the lower back. It affects the lunge."

Templar winced with every clash of metal, knew it has only a matter of time before more of the Dawn agents came running. His hand snapped forward, a globe of fire flashing towards the elf's throat. He ducked, and the fireball hit one of the shelves on the wall, which burst into flame.

"Very good. But you are dealing with a master. I wonder what you were trying to achieve, coming here."

Templar said nothing. Backing away to smoother ground, he watched the swordsman follow. The elf was smiling now, but the smile did not reach his gleaming red eyes. He lunged again, the blade slicing Templar's tunic just above the left hip. Templar hurled himself forward, hammering his shoulder into the mage's face. The elf fell awkwardly but rolled to his feet before Templar could bring his sword to bear. Their blades clashed again. Templar aimed a thrust at the elf's head, but he swayed aside, blocking the lunge and sending a riposte that flashed past Templar's neck.

Templar backed away, down the tunnel he'd come from. Both men were sweating freely. He lunged. The elf parried, then attacked in a bewildering series of thrusts and cuts that Templar fought desperately to counter, using skills with a sword only two weeks old. Then the cultist's sabre scratched across his shoulder.

_I am not going to die here. I am going to get the Amulet of Kings and I am going to give it to Martin and he is going to-_

He heard more footsteps, behind him this time. He whirled around, too late, to see the flat of an axe coming towards his head-

Black.


	31. An Inconvenient Sacrifice

_Author's Note: Shorter chapters make for quicker updates. Remember, Path 1 was the infiltration/disguise option, while Path 2 was the (failed) sneaking option._

An Inconvenient Sacrifice

_**Dagon Shrine Antechamber, Lake Arrius Caverns, The Valus Mountains, Hearthfire 10 3E433**_

* * *

1

The guard closed the gate behind them with a soft click, throwing bars of shadow across the grey rock walls. They were back in the cavern with the square stone platform, braziers in each corner. Harrow led him around it, to a wooden door at the other end that was framed with stalactites; the elf unlocked it with the key on his belt and ushered Templar through.

_Down the rabbit-hole we go…_

There was a kind of sulphurous smell in the air, the distinctive odour of molten rock, and Templar couldn't help but wonder if there were any volcanoes nearby.

Past the door was another long hallway – a thin fissure that led arrow-straight into the heart of the mountain. His crimson robe brushed against the uneven ground, and he swallowed to get rid of the lump in his throat.

About ten metres in another passage split off to the right. Harrow stopped and turned to him. It was fairly dim, and the cultist's face was ghostly in the torchlight. "Before the ceremony begins, you must make your first prayer to our Lord. He will ensure your intentions are true."

Templar nodded. _I hope not._

"Follow me."

Harrow led him down the new passageway. More stalactites hung from the roof, a deadly-looking series of spikes that he took care to duck under.

They came to a T-junction. Templar could hear voices coming from the left, but Harrow went right, through a short, sharply-curving cavern. And suddenly, they emerged into a room that was… filled with light, so unexpectedly dazzling that it made Templar see stars.

It was a small square cave. Arrayed around the edges were stone – _they look like stone coffins _– boxes that held hundreds upon thousands of candles. The light was steady and bright, with no wind to disturb the flames. On the floor were hessian pillows to sit or kneel upon.

At the far end was a statue of Dagon himself, about two metres tall. It –_ he?_ – was roughly humanoid, with two thickly-muscled legs and four powerful arms that were raised towards the heavens, fists clenched in fury. The Prince of Destruction's face was orc-like, with a fanged protruding jaw, pointed ears and two small horns. His feet had only two toes each, almost hooves, and his shoulders were covered in sharp ridges of bone. He wore a simple loincloth, and attached to one wrist were three metal claws.

_Doesn't look _that_ fearsome, especially considering his reputation._

A single Mythic Dawn acolyte was already there, holding a torch. Harrow nodded at her, and she quickly left the two of them alone.

"Novitiate. Kneel before our Lord and pray for the coming Cleansing."

Templar walked over to the front of the room and knelt before the statue. He closed his eyes, and tried to calm himself down.

_So, it seems the Amulet of Kings is involved in some ceremony they're about the have. That I'm about to take part in. Mankar Camoran's going to be there, a load of Mythic Dawn agents, and I may have to kill someone to make a 'sacrifice'. Which will then allow these people to summon an ancient, pissed-off demon._

_Just on a hunch, I think this evening isn't going to work out too well._

He opened his eyes and stood up. Harrow smiled. "I hope Lord Dagon accepted you into his Dawn."

Templar pulled his hood down a bit further. "I felt… something. Urging me on."

"Hm. Come. Our Master awaits."

As he'd been doing for the last half-hour, Templar followed Harrow through the maze of tunnels under Lake Arrius. This time, they kept walking down the long, straight hallway, footsteps echoing off the damp stone. The caverns were basically empty now, all of the cultists having gathered for the ceremony.

_I hope there's no more detours. Every minute I spend here is not doing good things for my long-term health._

Templar began to hear a low hum in the air, which slowly grew louder and louder. Harrow stopped in front of a door on the left.

"Here, novitiate, is our innermost sanctuary. Are you ready?"

"Yes," he replied, sounding impressively calm.

The elf nodded approvingly, and opened the door.

The Dagon Shrine was… big. Gloomy. A square-shaped cavern far bigger than anything else Templar had seen so far. There were two levels; a kind of balcony which ran around the outside of the room, and the shrine itself below. The undulating roof was covered in stalactites and dangling tree roots. Several ducts in the ceiling let in orange shafts of light from the setting sun. The cavern had been reinforced by six thick pillars arranged around the upper level, and was filled with red banners and burning braziers. He noticed another entrance on the left side, barred by a metal gate.

In the centre of the cave was a rectangular area of paving, a granite obelisk at each corner. Upon it was a raised stone platform, which held more torches and a simple altar. At the back of the cavern, looming above the shrine, half-concealed by fog, was another statue of Merhunes Dagon. This one was massive, stretching at least fifteen metres from the ground to the roof, and held a vicious battleaxe. Templar noticed that there was another altar at the statue's feet, on a higher platform.

On the left side of the chamber, there was a wide stone stairway down to the shrine. Harrow led him to it and began to descend. _Into the belly of the beast. _The air was dry, but seemed to be slightly hazy; the far reaches of the cave were indistinct.

Templar was nervous, to make an understatement. He shivered.

The chanting was coming from the Mythic Dawn acolytes assembled before the shrine, perhaps forty in all. A sea of red. Most of them had their hoods off, and Templar could see a diverse mix of people. Elves, Nords, Imperials, Redguards, men and women, all in crimson robes. _No non-human races, though._

"Greet the new day. Praise be…"

Templar and Harrow stood at the back of the gathering. He joined in with the chant.

"Greet the new day. Praise be…" _If something goes wrong, I am not going to get out of here alive._

There was a man standing on the platform – a tall, olive skinned Altmer. He had black hair which came forward in a prominent widow's peak, elfin ears and shining, golden eyes. He wore blue mages' robes, in contrast with the Mythic Dawn crimson. And hanging from his neck was the Amulet of Kings.

The chant stopped, fading into silence.

_So this is the fabled Mankar Camoran. Head of the snake, heart of darkness, etc. etc._

The Master looked out over his disciples and began to speak. His voice resonated between the rocky walls.

"The Dragon Throne is empty, and we hold the Amulet of Kings. Praise be to your Brothers and Sisters! Great shall be their reward in Paradise!"

Harrow was nodding beside him. Templar looked around for something, anything that would help.

On the altar was a small silver dagger and a thick, brown book. And on the second altar, further back was… _an Argonian?_ An unconscious – or dead –Argonian, lying on the stone slab. _So that's the sacrifice. I need a way to get out of this, quickly._ Camoran opened the book, flicking through the ancient pages, and after a moment's pause began to read.

"Hear now the words of Lord Dagon. 'When I walk the earth again, the Faithful among you shall receive your reward: to be set above all other Mortals forever. As for the rest: the weak shall be winnowed; the timid shall be cast down; the mighty shall tremble at my feet and pray for pardon.'"

"So sayeth Lord Dagon. Praise be," the Mythic Dawn replied together. _That book isn't the commentaries, it makes too much sense. Is that the Mysterium Xarxes itself? _Templar noticed that Camoran was flanked by two hooded Mythic Dawn guards – a woman on his right and a man on his left.

Camoran raised his arms and continued preaching. The fires in the cavern seemed to grow dimmer.

"Your reward, Brothers and Sisters! The time of cleansing draws nigh. Without this Amulet" – he pointed at his neck – "there can be no new Emperor in Tamriel, and no way to stop the Oblivion saviours. And if our Lord is willing, I may be able to summon him forth this very night, in this very cavern. Your eyes may be the first to see Dagon himself in a thousand years."

_I thought that there wasn't supposed to be any summoning yet. Didn't SHE tell me that he just was taking the Amulet to – to Paradise, or something?_

"But first, we have a new brother who wishes to bind himself to the service of Lord Dagon."

_Uh-oh._

Harrow pushed him forward. Templar suddenly found himself standing before the altar. The other cultists stepped back, leaving him alone before Camoran's gaze.

"Stand by me, novitiate," the Master said.

Templar trudged forwards on leaden legs, around the side of the platform, climbing the steps on autopilot. He stared at the Amulet around Camoran's neck; the blood-red diamond shone brightly in its golden clasp.

_So close, and yet so far._

He came to a stop, Dagon's statue towering over him. _A vengeful god. _He could feel the eyes of the assembled cultists on his back. Camoran was flicking through the book on the altar again, murmuring something. The woman on Camoran's right was standing to attention, a gnarled mage's staff across her back.

But then the man on his left began walking towards Templar, presumably to give some sort of instruction.

Then he spoke, and Templar almost jumped out of his skin.

"You have come to dedicate yourself to Lord Dagon's service. This pact must be sealed with red-drink, the blood of Lord Dagon's enemies."

Templar tried to peer under the man's hood, and suppressed a cry of shock.

"Baurus?" he whispered.

The cultist's eyes widened. Templar's eyes widened further.

They both stood there for an endless second.

Then the cultist raised a finger to his lips, and mouthed something. _'Play along.'_

Baurus kept speaking. "Take up the dagger and offer Lord Dagon the sacrificial red-drink as pledge of your own life's blood, which shall be his in the end." The look on the Blade's face was rapidly changing from 'surprised' to 'annoyed.'

Templar glanced behind him, at the unconscious Argonian, and then at the dagger on the altar. _Play along…_

"I will slay the sacrifice," he said.

"Lord Dagon thirsts for blood. Sate him."

Templar gave Baurus a questioning look, but the Blade shook his head.

_Play along. _Templar walked over to the altar and picked up the silver dagger. He was _right next _to Mankar Camoran; their sleeves brushed together as he turned away. The mage was fiddling with something on the altar that he couldn't see. The gathered cultists were still watching intently. He felt worryingly exposed up on the platform.

_I could kill him. Right now. The world would be a better place, and I would be dead._

_But we still wouldn't have the Amulet._

The dagger was cold in his hands. Baurus gestured over at the sacrifice.

He walked over to the second altar. Templar thought he could see old bloodstains trailing across the stone.

The Argonian prisoner was unconscious, chest rising and falling regularly. His reptilian skin was mottled orange and green, and he was naked except for a small loincloth.

The dagger felt cold in his hand. Too soon, he found himself standing before his sacrifice.

He glanced over at Baurus again, but the Blade only shrugged.

_How the hell did he manage to infiltrate the Mythic Dawn? I'm sure the other Blades must have known. _

_I seem to have messed up his plan, somewhat._

_Wrong place, wrong time. Again._

He looked down at the prisoner. His robe was now damp with sweat. The cultists were staring at him, waiting for the blood to flow.

_Think, Templar, think! Can you pretend to kill him, somehow? Delay them?_

_No time to think…_

"Give Dagon his sacrifice, novitiate. One stab to the heart, and the Dawn will be yours." A woman's voice, urging him on.

_I could kill him. One small sacrifice to somehow save the world. One dead Argonian, killed for the greater good. In cold blood…_

"Second thoughts are not part of our order, Brother," Camoran said from behind him. Templar whirled around. The Altmer was smiling oddly. "Slay the prisoner, and the ceremony can begin."

He looked down again. The dagger was cold in his hands. Shadows flickered in the firelight. Deep under Lake Arrius, Templar Estantesec held his breath.

_Whatever. Deal with it, Baurus._

He raised the dagger, turned around and threw it at Mankar Camoran's heart.

The mage sidestepped.

Baurus yelled something.

Templar's blood was pounding in his ears.

White light streamed from Camoran's fingers. The dagger was deflected to the left, but not before it tore a deep gash along his chest.

The woman beside him screamed in shock.

Baurus was standing there, as if pondering whether to intervene.

Templar realised that he was unarmed and almost alone in his enemy's lair, which was not a good feeling.

The world rushed back to full speed. Camoran cursed, clutching his side, and turned to his followers. "I go now to Paradise! I shall return with Lord Dagon at the coming of the Dawn!"

A ball of writhing yellow light appeared in the air above the platform. It expanded rapidly, and with a blinding flash it expanded into a magical portal.

Baurus had obviously decided what he was going to do and dived towards Camoran, trying to tackle the mage to the ground, but he was too slow and Camoran disappeared into the portal, which closed a split-second later.

The cultists were shouting madly, some of the swarming towards the central platform. Harrow's voice rang out above all the others: "KILL THEM!"

"Templar! Get the book!" The Blade gestured at the Mysterium Xarxes. "Then follow me and RUN!"

The Argonian was still out cold. "What about the prisoner-"

"Just come with me if you want to live!"

Camoran's other guard raised her staff. A flurry of green energy streamed towards him. Templar ducked around behind Dagon's statue and tried to send off a spell of his own, but couldn't concentrate. Some of the green magic poured over his hand, and he felt the strength flow out of it. _Some kind of weakening spell._

_Exits, where are the exits. They're on the upper level, on the other side of a million angry cultists._

_Freezing. Ice._

A cloud of pure cold swept from his fingers towards the woman. She was forced to retreat, down the steps at the side of the stone platform.

_Now or never. _Templar sprinted towards the forward altar and grabbed the book with an outstretched hand. It was heavy, with a thick creased cover. Instinct, some sort of horrid feeling, made him want to throw it away, but he clutched it to his chest.

He saw that Baurus now had two steel shortswords in his hands that he had somehow concealed under his robe, and was rapidly backing away towards the rear of the chamber, to the shadows behind the statue.

_Dead end…_ Templar followed, running back across the stone platform and plunging off the far end, landing on the rocky cavern floor with a painful crunch. A rock sailed past his head, clattering off the far wall.

He was surprised they weren't dead already. Perhaps the Mythic Dawn agents were as stunned as he was.

There was a loud SNAP from behind him. He turned, and saw that large cracks were appearing just above the ankles of the statue of Dagon. They got longer and longer, splitting and merging, until the stone began to separate, the statue slowly tilting forwards, faster and faster-

_Shit! After all the trouble I went to-_

He threw the book at Baurus and scrambled back up onto the platform. The whole cavern was rumbling now, dust falling from the ceiling. He skidded to a stop at the second altar and heaved the half-naked Argonian over one shoulder with a pained grunt. Another bolt of green magic brushed against his leg, and it almost buckled under him. He stumbled onwards, sliding off the rear of the platform again, running towards where Baurus was standing, until the statue _slammed_ into the ground.

Rock shattered. The ground shook as an almighty _CRACK!_ echoed around the cavern. A cloud of dust billowed out as the stone platform was crushed into oblivion, the braziers in the room instantly going out. Shards of rock slid across the floor amid the screams.

At long last, Templar threw up. Half-digested food spilled onto the ground. _No time for this! _Baurus had disappeared, somehow. Unless-

_Yes_. There was a small, almost invisible passageway under an overhanging rock shelf at the rear wall. Templar jogged towards it as fast as he could and slipped inside.

"Baurus? Where are you!"

"Keep going! There's a room at the end!"

The passageway was almost pitch black, and Templar didn't want to trip over with the Argonian on top of him. The weight was beginning to tire him out.

Then, suddenly, he sensed he was in an open space. He stopped, and heard Baurus shut a door somewhere behind him. He put the Argonian prisoner down as gently as he could.

"Help me barricade the door," the Blade said.

"Yeah, sure."

Together, they heaved two shelves across the doorframe, only visible as a dim outline. Templar collapsed against the wall. The quiet darkness was comforting somehow.

"Well, that was an unexpected turn of events," he said dryly, trying to catch his breath.

"For the gods' sake!" Baurus retorted. "What part of 'play along' didn't you understand?"

"The 'kill the prisoner' bit, actually."

"We could have had the Amulet _and_ Mankar Camoran, if only you hadn't turned up! It was all planned out, everything was…" The Blade trailed off. "Now is not the time. If we're going to get out of here alive, we need to move quickly. It's only a matter of time-"

Suddenly, they heard someone pounding on the door. Then someone else.

_Bam! Bam!_

_There goes the temporary illusion of safety. _"Do you have a plan?" Templar asked.

"Of course." Baurus glared at him. "I _always _have a plan."

"That door's not going to last long."

Then another voice spoke up. A hoarse, reptilian one. "WHERE AM I? WHAT'S GOING ON? AAAAHHHH! HELP!"

_Oh, great._

"THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME!" The Argonian had decided to wake up and was scrambling around in the dark, panicking.

"No kidding!" Baurus yelled back. The Blade tore off his red cloak and began to check the potion bottles tucked into his belt. "Be quiet! We're here to… we're rescuing you. Just follow us and certain death might become an optional extra."

Then the door exploded off its hinges.

* * *

2

_Uhhh…_

When he came to, Templar was being dragged along the rough stone floor. It was sloping downhill, and the air was cold. He heard a gate being unlatched and groggily opened his eyes.

A voice in front of him spoke up. "Bring him to the antechamber dormitory. We can keep him there until after the ceremony."

"Yes, Lord Harrow."

He blinked in the dim firelight. _Harrow_. _That's the damn elf's name._ His hands and feet were tied with thick ropes, and he was being dragged feet-first through the tunnels. The rock-strewn surface of the cavern was grazing his back through his thin tunic. _By the gods, I have a SPLITTING headache._ He shook his head to try and lessen the pain, but that only made it worse.

He saw that they'd brought him to the cavern with the square stone platform; the two braziers he had extinguished were burning brightly again. But the Dawn agents kept going, to the door at the other end of the room he had so desperately tried to get through. One of them unlocked it to reveal a long fissure in the rock that was perfectly straight, lit occasionally by torches, going deeper and deeper into the earth.

More dragging. He tested the knots around his wrists, but they were painfully tight. Stalagmites slid past on either side. There were at least two cultists behind him and three in front, and the one pulling him along wasn't being especially considerate to his prisoner's comfort.

"It seems I'm in a bit of a tricky situation," he said aloud.

The one named Harrow laughed harshly. The others were silent.

They turned right into another passageway. A forest of stalactites hung from the roof, looking unpleasantly pointy from Templar's position. There was another junction up ahead, and Harrow led them left, through a sharply curving S-shaped cavern. The ground was slanting upwards, pebbles digging into his back.

"Put him over here."

The guard dragged him over to a wall and propped him up against it, in a sitting position. They were in a small square room; in the centre, a stalactite and stalagmite had joined to make a misshapen column. There were three bedrolls arranged around a small campfire, as well as a desk and chair. A hollowed-out alcove in the wall held a few copies of the Mythic Dawn Commentaries. _I hate that gods-damned book. _

Templar tried to wiggle around and stretch his muscles a little. His head pounded, feeling like the axe was hitting it again and again and again._ Positively SPLITTING._

"That will do," Harrow announced. "I'll send someone to guard him shortly. The rest of you may enter the Shrine."

The cultists turned to leave, red robes trailing along the floor.

"Care to tell me where the Amulet of Kings is?" he asked half-heartedly.

Harrow glared at him. "No." They disappeared around the corner, voices echoing through the caves. "Sweep the Shrine for other intruders. There must be more of them…"

_Okay. Time to assess the situation._ His arms and legs were too firmly tied to put up much of a fight, and the sharpest thing in the room was probably the black quill on the desk. A few barrels were leaning against the far wall, but they looked like they contained only food.

_Situation: shit._

He was just about to try and stand up when he heard footsteps coming back along the passageway. Harrow re-entered, with two cultists in tow. The elf stared at him with dark red eyes. Templar would have gulped, if he could be bothered.

"You killed two of our own, prisoner, and that cannot be forgiven. We have a better use for you. I'm sure that our Lord would agree that two sacrifices are better than one…"

_Situation: more shit. _Templar gulped.

"Cut off his clothes."

One of the cultists took a knife from his belt and slid it under Templar's tunic, sawing through the fabric. He ripped it off, and did the same with his pants, until Templar was lying there in only his loincloth. The rock was cool against his bare skin.

_You know what? I am _past_ caring._

The other acolyte grabbed his wrists and began dragging him along again, back through the tunnels, until they came back to the long fissure. Harrow led them down it, and after about half-a-minute they stopped suddenly, jolting Templar's shoulders. He looked to the side, and saw they were in front of yet another door.

"Take him inside and put him on the altar, next to the Argonian. The Master will direct you."

The cultists nodded. The door opened.

The first thing he noticed was that the Dagon Shrine was big. And dark. He craned his neck around to try and get a better look.

It was a huge squared-off cavern, much bigger than anything else Templar had seen so far. There were two levels; a kind of balcony which ran around the outside of the room, upon which they were standing, and the shrine itself below. The curving roof was plastered with dripping stalactites and black tree roots. Several shafts in the ceiling let in orange light from the setting sun. The cavern had been reinforced by six thick pillars arranged around the upper level, and was filled with red banners and burning braziers. He noticed another entrance on the left side, barred by a metal gate.

In the centre of the cave was a rectangular area of paving, a tall granite obelisk at each corner. Upon it was a raised stone platform, which held more obelisks and a simple altar. At the tip of each obelisk was a burning torch. At the back of the cavern, looming above the shrine, half-concealed by fog, was another statue of Merhunes Dagon. This one was massive, stretching at least fifteen metres from the ground to the roof, and held a vicious battleaxe.

The Mythic Dawn guard pulled him over to a wide stairway that led down to the shrine's lower level. Instead of picking him up, the cultists just dragged him down the stairs, bumping up and down painfully.

They reached the bottom. _The enemy's heart. _The floor had been smoothed off, which made it slightly less agonising. The guard released Templar's arms and let him slump to the ground. _A very slight improvement. _

There was a crowd of acolytes assembled before the Shrine, a sea of red, perhaps forty in total. Most of them had their hoods off, and Templar could see a diverse mix of people. Elves, Nords, Imperials, Redguards, men and women, all in crimson robes. _No non-humans, though._

There was a man standing on the central platform, just visible from where Templar was lying – a tall, olive skinned Altmer. He wore blue mages' robes, in contrast with the Mythic Dawn crimson, with black hair which came forward in a prominent widow's peak, elfin ears and shining, golden eyes. Hanging from his neck was the Amulet of Kings. _Mankar Camoran, I presume. So close, and yet so far._

He had his arms raised, and was preaching to the assembled cultists. The only sound was Camoran's voice, which echoed off the rocky walls. "Greet the new day. Praise be…"

The crowd replied in unison, a host of emotionless voices. "Greet the new day. Praise be…" Harrow glanced down at his prisoner with a slight smile.

Templar was nervous, to make an understatement. He shivered. The air was cold and slightly hazy; the far reaches of the cave were indistinct, fading into grey.

The Master looked out over his disciples. "The Dragon Throne is empty, and we hold the Amulet of Kings. Praise be to your Brothers and Sisters! Great shall be their reward in Paradise!"

He stopped suddenly as he noticed the new arrivals at the back of the gathering. "It seems we have a visitor."

The cultists turned around as one, and Templar was assaulted by forty pairs of curious eyes.

Harrow spoke up. "An intruder, Master. I thought he might be able to serve a useful purpose as a second sacrifice."

There was an outbreak of whispering.

"Have you interrogated him yet?"

"No. But I'm sure of who sent him. Besides, the Dawn is so close at hand…"

_You're sure of who sent me?_

Camoran smiled. "I see. If you are sure, bring him to the sacrificial altar, and he will soon be dealt with."

The guard, grabbed hold of his wrists again and began dragging him around the edge of the room. The cultists parted before them, robes rustling.

He was taken to the stairs at the side of the central stone dais and heaved up to the top. _I'd be embarrassed, if I wasn't so bloody scared. _Templar noticed that there was another altar at the statue's feet, on a higher platform. The figure of Dagon towered above them.

_So, this is how it ends. A grisly death at the hands of Mankar Camoran himself._

There was someone lying on the second altar; an unconscious Argonian, lying on the stone slab. His pallid reptilian skin was a patchwork of orange and green, and he was also naked except for a dirty loincloth. _Another sacrifice?_

The guard dropped him directly in front of the sacrificial altar, nestled between the statue's feet. Camoran gave an approving nod, and turned back to his audience. Templar looked around for something, anything that would help.

On the first altar, at the front of the platform, lay a small silver dagger and a thick brown book. _Unhelpful, considering my current predicament. _The Argonian was lying on the second altar just above him, feet dangling off the end. _Also unhelpful._

The Master was speaking again. "Hear now the words of Lord Dagon. 'When I walk the earth again, the Faithful among you shall receive your reward: to be set above all other Mortals forever. As for the rest: the weak shall be winnowed; the timid shall be cast down; the mighty shall tremble at my feet and pray for pardon.'"

"So sayeth Lord Dagon. Praise be," the Mythic Dawn replied together.

Templar saw that Camoran was flanked by two hooded Mythic Dawn guards – a woman on his right and a man on his left. The fires in the cavern seemed to grow dimmer, and his bare skin prickled with goosebumps. His head swam. _Need to get out of here…_

"Your reward, Brothers and Sisters! The time of cleansing draws nigh. Without this Amulet" – he pointed at his neck – "there can be no new Emperor in Tamriel, and no way to stop the Oblivion saviours. And if our Lord is willing, I may be able to summon him forth this very night, in this very cavern. Your eyes may be the first to see Dagon himself in a thousand years."

_The blue woman told me that he was taking the Amulet to Paradise. Not summoning something with it._

"But first, we have two sacrifices, with which we fully bind ourselves to the service of Lord Dagon."

_Not good. _Templar felt sick to the stomach. He tried to get out of his ropes for the umpteenth time, but they just cut deeper into his skin.

Suddenly, Camoran turned around, and he was alone before the mage's gaze. He stared at the Amulet around Camoran's neck; the blood-red diamond was shining brightly in its golden clasp. _Camoran is just a man. Surely there's something-_

"Acolyte Horza Gorbachul: you will perform the deed. Feel free to make the intruder suffer."

The man on Camoran's left took the dagger from the altar, felt its weight. He began walking towards Templar, robes swirling about his feet, face concealed by the lowered hood. Every footstep boomed in Templar's mind, mixing with the blood rushing through his ears to create roaring, unthinking desperation. He struggled, trying to push himself to his feet.

The man stopped before him, and spoke. "We have come to dedicate ourselves to Lord Dagon's service. This pact must be sealed with red-drink, the blood of Lord Dagon's enemies."

Templar almost had a heart attack. _I know that-… _He stopped wriggling, and tried to peer up at the man's face. In the shadows underneath that hood, dark skin, brown eyes.

"Baurus?" he whispered. _F—ck me. _

The cultist jerked backwards, then quickly tried to conceal the motion. "_Templar_?"

They stared at each other with extremely surprised expressions.

"Thank the gods, is that really you?" He kept his voice down, but felt like crying with relief.

The olive-skinned Blade gave a quick nod. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, sounding somewhat annoyed.

"I could ask you the same-"

Suddenly, Baurus raised a finger to his lips. Camoran was flicking through the book on the altar, murmuring something. The woman on his right was standing to attention, a gnarled mage's staff across her back.

The Blade leant in closer. "I hope you realise that you have grandly stuffed things up."

"Well, you could still sacrifice me, if you like," Templar muttered back.

"Be quiet. I can't delay this any longer, so I am going to play along with the ceremony and create a distraction. Get ready to run, to the back of the cavern."

The assembled Mythic Dawn were trying to peer around the platform, to better see the bloodletting. Baurus turned to face them. "I take up this dagger and offer Lord Dagon the sacrificial red-drink as pledge of our own life's blood, which shall be his in the end."

Templar glanced behind him, at the unconscious Argonian, and then at the dagger in Baurus' hand. _Play along…_

"Lord Dagon thirsts for blood. Sate him," Mankar Camoran commanded.

The Blade turned back to his prisoner. '_Get ready_,'he mouthed.

He raised the dagger, firelight glinting off the blade. Then lots of things happened at once.

The tip plunged downwards, a blur of silver, rushing towards Templar's heart-

And missed and kept plunging. Baurus whirled around and released the hilt, the dagger flying through the air, aimed at Mankar Camoran himself.

White light streamed from Camoran's fingers. The dagger was deflected to the left by a magical barrier, but not before it tore a deep gash in his shoulder. The woman beside him screamed in shock.

Quickly, Baurus pulled two concealed shortswords from beneath his robe and slashed through Templar's bonds. The gathered cultists were beginning to react, some of them shouting, some of them sprinting towards the shrine. Templar realised that he was unarmed and almost alone in his enemy's lair, which was not a good feeling.

Camoran cursed, clutching his side, and turned to his followers. "I go now to Paradise! I shall return with Lord Dagon at the coming of the Dawn!"

A ball of writhing yellow light appeared in the air above the platform. It swelled rapidly, and with a blinding flash it expanded into a magical gateway.

Baurus ignored the fleeing mage and rushed towards the front of the platform, but was blocked by the woman with the staff. Templar threw the ropes off his wrists and decided to help, conjuring up a ball of ice with his mind and propelling at her. She was forced to duck away, and Baurus grabbed the thick brown book off the altar.

Camoran disappeared into the portal, which closed a split-second later, taking the Amulet with him.

_Damn. Some people are not going to be happy when I get back._

As Templar got to his feet, a gigantic _CRACK_ echoed throughout the cavern. He glanced behind him and saw a myriad of hairline fractures appear in the ankles of Dagon's statue. They split and joined, growing wider and wider, until the statue began to tilt forwards, leaning over him-

"Templar! Run!" Baurus yelled. The Blade was already past him and leapt off the back of the platform, towards the darkness at the back of the cave.

_Gladly. _Then he remembered the Argonian, who was still lying on the stone slab.

Templar knelt down and heaved the unconscious sacrifice over his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't feel a sword between his shoulderblades. The statue kept tilting.

He pushed himself to his feet and scrambled forwards, sliding clumsily off the back of the platform, landing painfully on the smooth cavern floor.

The statue hit the ground with a thunderous roar, shattering into a thousand pieces. Shards of stone burst outwards accompanied by a thick cloud of choking dust. People screamed. A green glow lit up the gloom briefly, some sort of magical outpouring.

Templar ignored the sensory overload. _Where the hell did Baurus go? _

Then he saw it, a small tunnel in the rear wall. He jogged towards it and disappeared inside.

It was dark, with no torches to light the way. "Baurus? Where are you!"

"Keep going! There's a room at the end!"

The Argonian was surprisingly heavy. He kept running.

"Hey, Baurus? What's that book you took? What about the Amulet?"

"The Mysterium Xarxes, I think," came the breathless reply. "I don't think the statue liked me stealing it. Forget about the Amulet and concentrate on running, we're almost there."

Suddenly, Templar sensed he was in an open space. He stopped, and heard Baurus shut a door somewhere behind him. He put the Argonian down as gently as he could.

"Help me barricade the door," the Blade said.

"Yeah, sure."

Together, they heaved two shelves across the doorframe, which was only visible as a dim outline. It was strangely quiet in the gloom, but that wouldn't last long.

Templar collapsed against the wall. "I'm going to need some clothes," he said in the silence.

"Deal with it," came the terse reply.

_Harsh. _"Well, what can I say? Wrong place wrong time."

"As pretty stupidly wrong as you can get, actually. Now we have to get out of this mess."

Light flared amidst darkness as Templar created a fireball in his hand. They were in some sort of storeroom, filled with square crates. After a few moments he found a box filled with clothing, and quickly slid on a new tunic and some leggings.

_Bam! Bam!_

Someone was banging on the door. There were muffled voices coming from the other side.

"I take it this isn't a dead end," Templar said.

"No. But I've got a plan that should make things easier." The Blade had cast off his red cloak and was trying to read the labels of two potion bottles hanging from his belt.

Templar held the light closer. "Well?"

Then another voice spoke up. A hoarse, reptilian one. "WHERE AM I? WHAT'S GOING ON? AAAAHHHH! HELP!"

_Oh, great._

"THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME!" The Argonian had chosen that moment to regain consciousness and was scrambling around, panicking. He saw the two of them standing together and shrank away, pressing up against the far wall.

"Hey, uh... we're the good guys," Templar said slowly. "We're going to rescue you."

The Argonian calmed down somewhat, but didn't come any closer.

"There's clothes in the box over there." He sidled over to where Baurus was standing. "Are you going to be much longer? Because-"

Then the door exploded off its hinges.


	32. Outmanoeuvred

_Author's Note: The trouble with writing a story chapter-by-chapter, with those chapters usually being written several months apart, is that you quickly lose track of things. Character behaviour, important subplots… they all get forgotten. This is a problem. The second problem is that I introduced several new story threads, and have no real idea of where they're going thanks to a chronic lack of planning. But hey, I'll figure it out._

_EDIT: My god, this story is 200,000 words long and I'm not even half-way (you have no idea how depressing that is). Well, I suppose that's what editors are for..._

Out-Manoeuvred

_**Hidden Tunnel**__**s**__**, Lake Arrius Caverns, The Valus Mountains, Hearthfire 10 3E433**_

**BAM!**

The wooden door scythed through the air, flying over Templar's head and splintering against the far wall. The fireball in his hand promptly went out, plunging the room into darkness - just in time to see the Mythic Dawn horde filling the hallway beyond. On instinct he shot a lightning bolt at the pressed-up bodies, felt the sudden energy drain, saw the electricity jump between three or four cultists as the world flashed black and white.

"Templar! Here!" Baurus was holding open a – _What? I didn't see that before_ – trapdoor over in the corner. He sprinted over, quickly glanced at where it led – _dark hole, deep, ladder leading down_ – and slid over the edge, catching hold of the ladder and descending as fast as he could. He could barely see the rungs in front of him, operating by feel.

"Argonian, into the hole!"

Templar looked up. A few seconds later, a thin shadow dropped into the opening a few metres above. "Baurus? How are things up there?"

"Pretty shitty, Templar, thanks for asking!"

He could hear the cultists shouting, a myriad of footsteps getting closer and closer. The only thing stopping them was the almost complete darkness, and the chaos of so many people in a tiny space.

Then the trapdoor slammed shut, the shouts becoming muted. He heard the sound of a bolt being locked. "Baurus?"

"I'm here. The bottom is about twenty metres down." Their voices echoed loudly in the enclosed shaft. Templar heard the Argonian's panicked breathing, and tried to get himself to calm down.

_Calm down? This isn't a garden party. I have every right to be f—cking terrified. _He reached the bottom suddenly and backed off the ladder. The Argonian prisoner followed five seconds later.

"You alright?" He laid a hand on the Argonian's scaly shoulder.

The prisoner shrugged him off with a low moan, and Templar felt him shrink away.

"Obviously not. Hey, what's your name?" he asked.

"Time for that later," Baurus announced, stepping off the ladder himself. "Here, drink this." Templar felt a glass bottle being pressed into his hand. "But only a few mouthfuls, there has to be enough for all of us."

"What is it?"

"Chameleon potion. Invisibility. Should make our job slightly easier for a few minutes. Templar gulped some down and gave it back to Baurus. It was sickly sweet, almost like honey. "We should still be slightly visible to each other, but completely transparent to anyone else," the Blade continued.

Templar thought for a moment. "Are our clothes affected? Your swords? Like, how does it know what to make invisible?"

"Magic," Baurus replied.

There was a loud crack from above them, and several planks of wood came tumbling down the shaft. The shouts were louder.

Templar stepped forwards and threw a fireball about mid-way up the ladder. The wood was dry from years underground, and the flames spread quickly, licking around the wooden rungs.

In the weak orange light, Templar noticed that his arm was almost transparent, just a faint, shimmering outline – a kind of reflection of the world around it. He looked down, and was slightly unnerved at not being able to see his torso. Or his legs. _Gods, I didn't even feel anything. _Baurus and the Argonian were the same, barely-visible outlines against the bare stone walls.

"Thanks for the distraction. Now, just-"

"_AAAAAAAARRRGHH!"_

A loud scream reverberated through the cavern, getting louder and louder, until the flaming body of a Mythic Dawn agent crunched into the rock at the bottom of the shaft. Templar reeled back from the sudden heat, and saw another figure come tumbling down, an island of amber light coming closer and closer.

Another thump. No more screaming.

"-just follow me," Baurus said. He began jogging down the thin cavern that led away from the ladder shaft. The walls here were just as rough as the caves above them, but the air had an older, staler quality.

After a few moments, the Argonian followed, oddly silent, bending over to avoid the low ceiling. Templar brought up the rear.

"Got any magicka potions on that magic belt of yours, Baurus?" he asked. "Cause I feel like one right now."

"Nope. Sorry," came the reply, from some invisible patch of air up in front.

"Ah, well."

The cavern continued, twisting to the left, then to the right. It seemed to back around on itself several times, until they came to another ladder – this one leading up.

Baurus began climbing. This one was much shorter, and the two of them waited as the Blade cautiously opened the trapdoor at the top, took a quick glance at the surroundings.

"We're safe. Come on."

A few moments later, Templar crawled up out of the hole, blinking at the sudden brightness. They were in another corridor-like cavern, but this one was lit by torches every few metres. He was barely been able to catch his breath before Baurus was moving off again, down the cavern.

He didn't need to be told to follow, and neither did the Argonian. _Potion's still working. As long as we don't get too close, the guards won't be able to see us, and we might actually have a chance at getting out of here. Without the Amulet of Kings, but that's a problem for dear old Martin to worry about-_

"Jeelius," the Argonian said suddenly.

Baurus stopped. "What?"

"That's my name. Jeelius."

The lizard's eyes were blinking nervously, his bony frame accentuated by the fact that he was still only clad in a prisoner's loincloth.

"Oh. Well, stick with us, Jeelius, and you might live for a few more hours."

"At least," Templar added. _Little old me, the eternal optimist. Ha._

They kept moving. Suddenly, Templar knew where they were. Coming up ahead was the entrance to the Dagon Shrine, with the altar and the rather enormous – now fallen – statue of Dagon, except this time they were approaching from the other direction. Two red-robed guards were standing at the entrance.

Templar noticed that he _could_ just see Baurus' outline in front of him, and hoped that they were less visible to those who weren't under the potion's influence.

Baurus turned around and held a finger to his lips. Templar rolled his eyes in an I'm-not-an-idiot kind of way.

They crept closer and closer. Quietly, silently, the barest hint of a silvery shimmer. Until Baurus was there, directly in their line of sight, tiptoeing forwards. Then Jeelius. Then Templar.

He was as far away from them as possible, pressed up against the cavern wall. The guards were standing on either side of the doorway to the shrine, staring right _through_ him at the bare rock. He realised he still didn't have a weapon of any sort, and shivered. _Chameleon potion: eerie but effective._

He was almost tempted to wave at them, but then he was past, still going as softly as he could. Then Baurus stopped suddenly. Templar looked up.

Another two guards were striding down the hallway towards them. Side by side, blocking the entire width of the cavern. _Well, invisibility's not going to help us now._

The Blade turned to face them, and pointed at the two guards he had just passed. Then he held up two fingers, one on each hand.

_The two guards by the door. I get that._

The, keeping one finger in place, he pointed at Templar and the Argonian.

_Us?_

Then he used the same finger to make a wide circle, coming around until his hand went past his other finger. As if to say

_Go through the guards?_

_ Us? Go through the two guards?_

Templar looked behind him at the two cultists by the shrine entrance. They were standing a few feet apart. _Maybe_ far enough to slip through.

He shook his head furiously. Baurus shrugged, and pointed at the two guards coming up from behind him.

_Dammit._

Templar began creeping back the way he'd come, stopping directly between the two guards at the door. Still no reaction. He began inching towards them, closer and closer, until he could _smell_ them, see the pores on their faces. He turned to one side to make himself thinner, and saw Baurus giving the _hurry up!_ signal. He was staring straight at one of the guards' ears at the moment, and he felt his leg begin to quiver uncontrollably. A bit further, a bit further… and then he was through, in the small alcove in front of the shrine entrance. He waited for the others, crouching down.

Jeelius slipped through without incident, but fear was plastered all over the Argonian's face. He could hear the other pair of guards coming ever closer. Then Baurus was there, sliding between the pair of Mythic Dawn as fast as he dared, entering the alcove _just_ as the two guards walked past. Their footsteps began to fade.

Templar let out a mental sigh of relief.

_Now, to our other problem._ The three of them were crammed into a tiny alcove, in front of a door to the Mythic Dawn Shrine, with two guards standing barely a metre away. Someone's hip was digging into his groin.

Baurus gestured at the guards, made the 'slipping past' gesture again. Templar shook his head vehemently. This time, Jeelius did as well. Templar pointed at the guards, made stabbing motions.

Jeelius nodded.

The Blade gave it a moment's thought, then nodded as well. He pulled out his two shortswords, raised them high.

Templar turned away

-slish-

and turned back to see the pair of guards with steel through their necks, the tips of Baurus' swords protruding through the other side, just above the Adam's apple. Neither of them could get enough breath to scream.

Baurus withdrew his blades and they dropped to the floor, in a rapidly-expanding pool of crimson.

"Okay," Templar said quietly. "_Now_ we can keep going."

They kept going, down the cavern. At the end was another door; through it as another large chamber, Templar remembered. Then another corridor, another cavern, and then-

"Shit. The door's locked."

Baurus was trying the handle, but it wouldn't budge. He threw a shoulder against the wood, which shuddered slightly.

"Hey! Keep it down," Templar muttered. "We'll just have to wait until someone comes through."

Baurus thought for a moment. "How long will that take? The chameleon effect might not last until then. We can double back, go through the shrine, and loop around."

"Won't that take even longer?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

Back down the hallway, for the second time. The door to the shrine was unlocked, and the three of them stepped through.

The shrine was by no means empty, but the space was large enough so that they could avoid the guards inside. Perhaps a dozen of them were gathered around the shattered statue of Mehrunes Dagon, its thick stone arms snapped off at the shoulder, the head split into three pieces that rested in the far corner. The altar had been crushed under the immense weight, together with several unfortunate cultists, a pulpy mess of gravel and flesh. Some of the surviving Mythic Dawn were praying, while others were tending to the wounded. Some of them stood there stupidly, not knowing what to do. It was strangely quiet, after the chaos of the previous fifteen minutes.

The upper level was empty. They skirted the edge of the room, and passed through the open gate in the left wall. No one gave them a second glance. _Well, I suppose they can't even give us a first glance. _This passage was wider and sloped uphill, the floor made up of gently-rounded boulders.

As the cavern levelled out, it turned a sharp right; it had once been a T-junction, but a rockfall had completely blocked off the left hand path. They waited for a moment as several Mythic Dawn agents swept past, as the cavern was just wide enough for them to squeeze aside. Baurus led them past bright stone braziers, and crimson banners; here and there, Templar could see bumps where awkwardly-placed stalagmites had been hacked away. They ducked low under a series of creaking support beams, then around another corner, to the left. He tried to look at his hands, and couldn't see them. _Potion's still working, then._

Into a little room filled with shelves and desks and pallid candlelight. Two Mythic Dawn were unpacking a crate in the middle of the floor, talking quietly. "Bring this to Harrow, sister," one of them said. "It should be what he needs."

Baurus had to backpedal suddenly as the second cultist jumped up, steadying himself against one of the shelves, which wobbled. Just a little. The first cultist noticed the sound, looked over at where Baurus was standing; the other rushed off into another cavern, holding something to her chest.

A bottle filled with bright pink liquid was tilted too far, began to fall. The Blade let it go – catching it would have looked rather suspicious – and the glass shattered noisily as it hit the ground. He tried to avoid being hit by any droplets.

"Curses!" the remaining Mythic Dawn hissed.

Baurus stepped over the puddle and crept towards the exit in the far corner. Templar and Jeelius snuck around the other side of the room, ghosts in the candlelight. _Crisis averted._

Another short passageway, through a small chamber with a campfire in the middle. Into a winding cavern, this one leading down, with a ceiling that rolled like an ocean swell. Another Mythic Dawn agent avoided, by the slimmest of margins.

After a short while, Baurus stopped them, just before the entrance to a new cave. Templar could see that this space was much larger, more square. Templar realised that he could also see Baurus.

He slid past Jeelius and tapped the Blade on the shoulder. "Baurus! Potion's wearing off!"

The Blade was still difficult to see, but definitely _there_. Baurus held a hand up in front of his face, and cursed softly.

The cave was similar in layout to the Dagon Shrine; there was a central, lowered 'pit' where they were standing, and an upper level that skirted around the edges of the chamber. A stone platform was pressed up against the far wall, symmetrically mounted with a pair of altars, covered in candles. Upon the platform was a lone Mythic Dawn, holding a torch. A stairway to the right led to the upper level, which was much darker and more 'natural,' and ringed with thick columns.

"There's four guards on the upper level," Baurus said, "and usually this room is busier, so it seems they're looking for us in the wrong places. The exit is in the far left corner, and if we move fast enough, we should be able to get there without being too visible."

"Uh… okay." Templar couldn't think of anything else to say.

Baurus walked out into the middle of the room, his silhouette bathed in firelight. He turned and began tiptoeing up the stairway. Jeelius followed soon after, still silent, and then Templar. The guard by the altar was motionless, staring straight ahead. For once, Templar was glad he had bare feet, as boots would've clicked on the stone floor. But that didn't matter.

Templar's camouflage was giving up. It flickered once, twice, for the barest of an eyeblink –

then abruptly disappeared, so he was standing there plain as day. _Oh gods._ And then-

"Intruder!" He whirled round, saw the cultist at the altar draw a weapon.

"Run," Baurus ordered. The Blade hefted his swords, began sprinting around to the exit, towards the four guards blocking their way. Templar didn't hesitate. Shoving at Jeelius, he started running. He heard a few heated words being shouted behind him, reached the top of the stairway.

He turned right, following Baurus, trusting his legs to keep him upright. It _was_ dark up here, and the ground was rough, not an ideal combination. A foot caught on a stone outcropping; he stumbled and kept going. They were now skirting the back of the room, above the entrance. Baurus had just engaged the first Mythic Dawn guard; the other three weren't far behind. Jeelius had picked up a rock, hurled it at an approaching cultist, and against all odds, hit him directly in the head.

The Blade was still almost invisible, in contrast to Templar. It gave him a clear advantage in a fight, as invisible swords (and swordsmen) were hard to defend against. _Curse him for drinking all the potion._

Templar thought he could probably outrun them, if they could only get to the other tunnel-

* * *

It was another tunnel, now. Baurus disappeared around a corner up ahead. It was getting darker and darker, he was slipping on the rocky ground. Then he was around the corner himself, almost pitch black, but another torch was looming in the distance. The tunnel opened up into a rounded cavern _packed_ with stuff; barrels, crates, stalagmites and stalactites, benches and chairs, stacked tables. Pots, bedrolls, banners, cookfires and roasting spits. Half-a-dozen Mythic Dawn cultists.

They reacted almost instantly, some of them shimmering and conjuring armour, the spiked steel breastplate and dark helmet that Templar had seen many times before. Some picked up weapons from racks in the corner, axes, maces and knives. Shouts from their pursuers echoed through the tunnels: _"Intruders! The sacrifices are here! Stop them!" "The statue has fallen! The Master is gone!"_

The three of them split up, dividing their attackers. He dodged around the first cultist, feinting to the left, then the right. Baurus was pushing over tables and chairs, blocking the path behind him. The clutter of the room worked to their advantage, preventing the Mythic Dawn from getting close. For the hundredth time, he wished he had a weapon, as another guard sprinted towards him, axe raised high. His bare feet gripped the stone, passing beneath him-

* * *

Stone pounded beneath his feet. A thrown weapon clattered against the wall beside his head. The Argonian was half-sobbing as he ran, tail whipping from side to side, almost overcome by malnutrition and exhaustion. The cave turned left, then right. He squeezed through a tight gap, scraping his skin. Until-

Baurus was grasping a lever that protruded from the ground, still under the effects of the chameleon potion, his slightly perceptible form refracting the firelight. There was the sound of rock grinding on rock, and one of the boulders in the side of the cave was _moving. _It had risen perhaps halfway to the ceiling, and was still going, inexorably slowly.

Suddenly, Templar knew where they were. He flashed back to the moment he'd first entered the Lake Arrius caverns, the very first chamber of the Dawn stronghold, where he'd seen a cultist use this very same secret entrance.

Jeelius dove through the gap, and Templar didn't need any invitation to do the same. He scrambled underneath the rock and rolled to his feet.

It was the familiar cavern, and he felt the barest hint of euphoria. There were no guards. He sprinted towards the shaft at the other end of the room, the shaft that led up to the door, the entrance. He entered the tunnel, rounded the corner. The Argonian was already there, but was… frozen, still, rendered in silver by the moonlight streaming through the open entrance.

"No, no, no! Not you!" Jeelius cried hoarsely.

It was Harrow. The priest was blocking the exit, and smiled in simple gratitude as Templar stumbled to a halt in front of him.

Templar swung his arm around, already conjuring a lightning bolt, but had to hesitate to avoid hitting Jeelius. The arc was too great. Before he could line up on his target, a ball of white fire struck his hand.

Templar howled at the flare of terrible pain as his hand uncurled. No matter how vigorously he waved his arm the deadly white flame could not be dislodged from its grip around his finders. Oily stinking smoke poured out.

"In the name of Lord Dagon, I cleanse you," the smiling cultist said.

"Fuck you."

He could hear Jeelius crying out, wails of revulsion and horror. Shock was diminishing the pain in his hand slightly. He could feel the vomit rising in his throat as more and more of his flesh charred. His whole right arm was stiffening. Somewhere in the back of his mind a vast crowd of invisible people were whispering all at once, louder and louder, incoherent voices, darker and dimly noticed that Jeelius was on fire as well, Harrow's insatiable flames eating at his skin. Screams.

_No._

A cascade of water burst out of Templar's other hand. He laughed with brittle hysteria as more and more liquid balled in mid-air, punched his other hand upwards. The white flame vanished in a gust of steam, and he collapsed down onto his knees, his whole body shaking violently.

Harrow regarded the two of them with a degree of aristocratic annoyance, as if any hint of defiance was unprecedented. Water splattered on his crimson robe.

Templar felt the energy draining out of him. His right hand was dead now; a supreme crush of coldness had devoured his wrist. Noise swept past from somewhere behind him, a gigantic crash, a shout of triumph. Somewhere. Not here.

He heard Jeelius still screaming, tried to summon more water, or ice, or anything. The Argonian ran towards Harrow, stumbling desperately, his whole torso aflame, and-

-died. Harrow's sword sliced through his neck, severing it from his body, which was still burning with the eerie light of the Mythic Dawn's flames. A few flecks of vomit emerged from Templar's mouth as the smell reached him.

He stood up, was about to growl something menacing, but realised how stupid that would be. He had no weapon, no energy, no more resolve. Harrow regarded him coolly.

_C'mon, Baurus, where the hell are you?_

And then, Templar felt something touch his shoulder. A hand. He didn't flinch. Harrow didn't appear to have noticed anything.

Templar pushed himself to his feet, on aching legs. "Guess who's behind you, dickhead," he snarled, pointing at the open door.

The cultist whirled around, a fireball blooming in his hand. Templar felt the air move as a crystal shimmer leapt past him, the hint of a sword in each hand

"A valiant attempt," Harrow began saying, turning back towards him, "but I think-"

Baurus' shortswords sheared into Harrow's back, right between the shoulderblades. The priest struggled for a moment, groaning, like a fly pinned to a wall, before Baurus withdrew and let him fall to the ground.

"Thanks," Templar said breathlessly.

"Hm. Pity about the prisoner," the Blade replied, pointing at Jeelius' blackened form. Templar tried to avoid looking at it. "I hate to sound callous-

* * *

_Lighting the fires, every day. The comforting embrace of a grey robe, listening to those who came to pray, to confess, or merely to talk. _

_ The sheer grey walls of the Temple, the cavernous dome above his head, surrounded by dead statues and living friends._

_ A cramped room. Two lovely children, their spines just becoming nice and sharp. _

_ His wife, who sometimes came to visit, when she had the time._

_ Until one day, she had left. The children had gone._

_ He sometimes went to visit them, when he had the time._

_ The temple was no longer soothing. He still went, still lit the fires, still listened, but no longer felt the gods in his heart._

_ Until one day, the red men came. They had taken him away, and those who knew him, knew nothing._

_

* * *

_

-but we should probably get out of here. I collapsed the rockwall, but that'll only hold them for a few minutes."

"Yeah, sure." He felt his legs begin to buckle, but willed himself to keep standing. Baurus held out a hand, gestured at the open hillside a few metres ahead – "Shall we?" – and they began trudging upwards.

As they walked, Baurus looked at him quizzically. "You have _no_ idea what I was doing in there, do you."

"Uh… Infiltrating the Mythic Dawn, getting the Amulet, et cetera?"

"Kind of, but there's more to-" The Blade paused; somewhat bitterly, it seemed. "Never mind. And it seems that the gods want you to stay alive."

Templar grinned. "You have no idea."

"Oh, I do… Let's just say that if it was anywhere else, we might not have been so lucky."

Templar thought for a moment, and sighed. "I'm too tired for this crap, Baurus. Explain later."

His foot hit something soft. It was the Argonian's blackened body, curled up in agony. "Sorry," he whispered. He stepped over it with an exaggerated stride, tried to convince himself that he couldn't have helped, and hated himself for it. "Later…"

"There might not be a chance later." But the Blade offered him a shoulder to lean on, and together, they walked out into the moonlight.


	33. Hot Pursuit

_Author's Note: You know you've got some odd priorities when your plan for the day involves writing a horse chase after dinner. The action in this chapter was a pain to write, which probably means I shouldn't have done it – but I thought it was a bit weird how the Mythic Dawn stopped chasing you even when you stole their most holy book and killed a bunch of their dudes._

_So… that's a long-winded way of saying 'here's another chapter.' I've taken a few liberties with geography, but I'm sure you won't mind. And I've only ridden a horse once, myself, so forgive me for any horse-based inaccuracy. More importantly, this is the last 'new' chapter that'll be written for a while – I'm going to spend some much needed time fixing up older chapters (nothing major, just some continuity/formatting/spelling stuff), maybe inserting a few new scenes here and there to improve the set up of certain events, and doing a bit of forward planning._

_That means that this marks the end of Part 3: The Path of Dawn. Coming up next will be Part 4: Of Daedra and Divines, and a whole bunch of fetch quests and dungeon crawling. Hooray! Hope you've enjoyed things so far, and I'll see you on the other side…_

Hot Pursuit

**Outside the Mythic Dawn Shrine, Lake Arrius, The Valus Mountains, Hearthfire 10 3E433**

They descended the gravelly track that led to the shores of Lake Arrius. Templar could feel his strength returning as the shouts of pursuit faded into the distance. It was an hour or two past sundown and Tamriel's two moons were bright in the sky, their reflections glittering on the water. The air was cold, hinting at the snow that would soon begin to fall on the mountains all around.

"I hate to rain on our parade, here, but we have to keep moving. They'll be onto us in a few minutes," Baurus warned.

"Oh, come on. Will this day ever end?" Templar sighed.

"In about four hours, yes."

"Don't be flippant."

"_But_," the Blade continued, "I know where the horses are kept."

Templar did a double-take. "Horses?"

"Horses. So we can ride to Cheydinhal."

"But I've never ridden a horse before."

Baurus made an unhappy grunt. "That's unfortunate. Just learn quickly, then. Once we're inside the city, the Dawn won't dare to follow us, and riding is faster than walking."

"But the last horse I saw tried to bite me."

Baurus ignored him. "This way." He led Templar to the left, skirting the boundary where the mountains met water. They curved further and further away from the lake, through aging pine groves and rock formations, until they entered a small, winding canyon that followed the contours between two hills.

After perhaps twenty metres, the canyon opened up into a kind of clearing, containing several rough wooden huts and a low stable. There were perhaps a dozen horses within, their heads poking out above the dark stalls, whinnying softly. The whole compound was surrounded by a fence, and he could see several hay bales lying amidst the trees

"The Mythic Dawn never struck me as animal-lovers," Templar said.

"They do what they have to. They need transport, and horses are easy to care for." Baurus led him closer, up to the stable entrance. A musty animal scent filled the air. "Here, this one seems nice enough."

They had stopped at one of the end stalls, which contained some sort of brown creature with long neck hairs and a funny-looking nose. Templar's untrained eyes thought it was about medium height, for a horse.

It snorted softly. Templar jumped.

"We have to move quickly," Baurus said impatiently. The Blade was still dressed in his crimson Mythic Dawn cloak, which was now ripped and stained in several places.

"I don't like horses."

"It's a domesticated animal. It's used to having people sit on it. Just move slowly, and it won't kick you." The Blade opened the stall door. The beast was already wearing a saddle, so Baurus grasped the reins and led it out into the open.

It was kind of imposing up close, all smooth flanks and toned muscle, almost as tall as he was. It blinked in the moonlight, snorted again. Baurus ran a hand along its neck, and spoke to it softly. "Now, I'm going to do something you won't like. I'm going to let a very stupid man ride you. He'll probably pull too hard and fall off at some point, but I just want you to get him to the city gates. Okay?"

The horse was silent. Templar stepped closer, somewhat nervously. "I'm not even going to reply to that, Baurus."

He touched the horse, and it promptly bit him. "Argh! Dammit dammit dammit! What is _with_ these animals?" He leapt backwards, nursing the bite marks on his wrist. The horse merely blinked.

"They're usually very nice creatures," Baurus murmured. "You must have an odd smell."

"Is that another veiled insult?" Templar retorted.

"No."

For the first time in several minutes, he heard a distant human voice pierce the stillness of the canyon. It sounded angry.

"We're backed into a dead end, here, so you're going to have to get on that horse one way or another," Baurus said.

"Why couldn't we have just walked? We could have hidden in the trees, waited until they moved on."

"It's too late for that."

Suddenly, Templar had an idea. "But I might not need to ride at all. Horses can carry two people, right? I could sit behind you." The shouts were getting closer... at least three distinct voices.

The Blade shook his head. "We'd be much slower. And if we ride separately ride it means we can split up, divide the Mythic Dawn. There's a better chance at least one of us might make it."

_Greetings, reader! You must now __choose your own adventure. _

_ Choose path 1 if you listen to Baurus' advice, split up, and then learn to ride a horse very very quickly. Will you make it to Cheydinhal alive? (Yes, you will.)_

_ Choose path 2 if you decide to ride behind Baurus – almost like two lovers on a moonlit date, except Baurus doesn't like you very much and you're being pursued by ruthless killers._

* * *

1

"Okay. Fine," Templar said after a moment. "I see your point." _And horseriding can't be that difficult, can it?_

"Good. Now, approach it from the front, slowly. Stay out of biting range if you must." Baurus was speaking quickly. "Reach out and pat its neck."

Templar did so. Baurus kept firm hold of the reins as the animal tossed its head.

"Now, see that little dangling thing hanging off the saddle?" _Yep. _"That's the stirrup. Put one foot in that, then stand up."

_Okay. _Templar grabbed onto the other side of the saddle and balanced in the stirrup. "Then just heave your other leg over the other side, so you're sitting evenly."

Slowly, he twisted and hauled himself over, the leather saddle scraping against his stomach. H e realised how big and tall the animal was and clamped his legs around its sides. The horse did a few quick steps, and Templar quickly bent down and grabbed hold of its mane to stop himself from falling. He could feel the flesh moving in and out against his calves. _It's kinda high up here…_

"These things I'm holding are the reins," Baurus continued. "They're used for-"

It was then that the first Mythic Dawn entered the clearing. "_THERE! BLOCK THE ENTRANCE, TRAP THEM INSIDE!_"

The Blade swore. "Just grab hold of them. Pull to go left and right, slap the reins or kick to go forwards. Horses are intelligent animals, so it'll avoid trees and things for you." He sprinted back into the stable, unlocked one of the stalls and came out holding a big black warhorse. The Blade quickly vaulted onto its back and trotted up to Templar's side. _Impressive._

Then one of the Mythic Dawn was _there_, sword in hand, two more cultists trailing behind. Templar sat on the horse's back, paralysed.

Baurus did the work for him and slapped his horse's rear. The beast jerked up, pawing the air, jolting Templar's breath out of him, before _leaping_ forwards directly at the Mythic Dawn guard. _Oh god it's going up hold on ARGH forwards fast fast fast-_

He let out a small yell as the guards scattered, diving away from the approaching animal, the world bumping up and down, blurring at the edges with the sound of thumping hooves. Templar felt himself sliding to the left _I'm gonna fall off I'm gonna fall_ and reflexively pulled on the reins. The horse began curving to the right and he leaned back upright, feeling sick to his stomach. He was getting used to the speed now, it wasn't that fast yet, but there was a wall right there-

The horse stopped suddenly, hooves digging into the wet grass, and Templar jerked forwards. "Ow." They had halted just in front of one of the wooden huts. His legs felt like jelly.

"Templar! This way!" Baurus was bent low, riding towards the canyon entrance. Four of the Mythic Dawn were standing abreast, trying to cut him off, while several others were running to the stables to get their own horses.

Templar was at a temporary loss at what to do. "Uh… horse! Follow the other horse!" He gave a little kick with his feet, and tried to steer towards the entrance. Amazingly, the horse listened. It began walking at first, then Templar gave another kick and it began to trot. And then gallop. Through the fence-gate, towards the exit. _Just hold on tight. _His mind was a mess of partial thoughts, focusing on the immediate moment.

He looked up, saw Baurus reach the line, sword drawn. Some of the guards had run out of the way to avoid being trampled, but one of them was wearing armour and stood his ground. There was a clash of metal as Baurus cantered past and the cultist fell sideways.

Then Templar was there, and no one was interested in stopping him. His horse trampled the fallen body and entered the canyon, the rocky walls speeding past, winding left and right, until he was _out_ and into the forest. There were trees everywhere, everywhere, suddenly looming up in the darkness, and he decided to just let go of the reins and let the horse find its way. _Can horses see well in the dark? I godsdamn hope so_. Twigs scratched at his face, and he resisted the impulse to close his eyes. Suddenly the horse neighed and _jumped_ over something – a fallen trunk? – and Templar's heart was in his mouth for the briefest of seconds before they came back down to earth with a bone-cracking thump.

Out into the clear moonlight. The shores of the lake were directly before them. Templar followed Baurus and turned gently to the left, and was pleased that the animal did exactly as he asked. But the water was coming closer and closer, and the horse was still moving at a good pace, and he realised that _AHHHHH-_

"Baurus! How do you make it slow down?"

The Blade looked over his shoulder from up ahead. "What?"

"SLOW DOWN: HOW?"

"Pull back!" The Blade yelled back.

Templar pulled up, and not a moment too late. He held on tightly and came to a stop with the horse's hooves dipping into the icy water, back legs still on the pebbled shore.

"Cross over here."

Baurus had found the narrowest part of the lake, just below a small waterfall where the river fed into it. Templar followed him through the water, ripples licking at his feet, feeling the waterfall's spray against his face. They had just reached the other side when a pair of cultists, on horseback, exploded out of the forest behind them. Then another two. Then another.

"Okay," Baurus said quickly. "I'll go to the right, you go to the left. That means that you're making your way to Cheydinhal's east gate, while I go to the west gate. Got that?"

"Yeah. I suppose," Templar answered worriedly.

"Just go through the forest until you see the city walls. Follow the walls long enough and you'll find a gate, and gates have sentries, and the Mythic Dawn will then stop chasing you because they don't like witnesses. Good luck."

And with that, Baurus turned his horse to the right and sped off into the trees, down the hillside, going at a fast trot to navigate the boulder-strewn terrain. Templar looked behind him; the Mythic Dawn had almost reached the lake shore. The moonlit forest before him looked even less inviting.

_Ah, sh—t. Well, here goes._ "Let's go, horsey," he murmured, slapping the reins. They set off at a fast trot, which quickly turned into a gallop. The ground here was open and slightly furrowed and wave-like, broken up by low shrubs. Templar's tailbone got the worst of it as the horse bobbed up and down with the hillside. A few trees whipped by, then more and more, until they were in the forest proper. The horse swung from left to right, avoiding the trunks that suddenly loomed in the darkness.

Templar felt that he was finally getting the hang of it. He stopped holding on so tightly, tried to get himself to relax and stop jumping at every turn. But though the Mythic Dawn were still close behind, he wasn't quite prepared to go any faster. _That would be almost suicidal._ He stole a glance over his shoulder, saw three, maybe four riders dashing through the forest behind him, robes billowing in the wind. He looked back to the front, saw a bubbling stream up ahead. He urged the horse towards it and the beast leapt, sailing through the air for an interminable moment before thumping down on the other side.

He kept expecting an arrow in the back at any moment, but supposed that it would be awfully hard to aim properly and ride at the same time. Or maybe they weren't carrying bows, and would try to get up close with their swords.

_ Either way, I need to stay ahead. _A pine branch whipped across his face painfully, and he tried to duck down lower in the saddle. The horse crashed through a couple of bushes, twigs cracking loudly. Over a rise, a brief glimpse of stars, then careening back downhill. _Speeeeeed!_

Left, right, left, right. The going would be harder the closer they got to Cheydinhal; the forest would get denser the further they descended. He stole another backwards glance, and saw that the Mythic Dawn were closer, barely twenty metres behind. And gaining. Templar's heart pounded in his chest. Faster now, the world passing by in a blur of greys and blacks. A sickening feeling as the horse skidded on a patch of wet grass, throwing itself to the side to get around a stunted ash. The woods _were_ getting thicker, and he thought he had to be at least half-way to the city. It hadn't taken him more than an hour at walking speed.

The horse plunged down an especially steep incline – _oh gods – _before abruptly hitting the bottom and starting back up the next hill. His stomach lurched. Up to the crest again, and he thought he could just glimpse the city walls, a black rectangle that brooded on the horizon, blocking out the stars.

And then he heard someone shout _right behind him_ and whipped around in the saddle. One of the cultists was right there, a sword raised in one hand, half a horse-length behind. He snarled at Templar, something unintelligible that got lost in the air rushing past his ears. The cultist leaned forward, blade glinting, and then swung downwards. Templar tugged the reins and the horse swayed to the left, barely escaping the deadly slash. He was pulling ahead slightly as the cultist tried to regain his balance; but his horse was tiring. He looked back and saw the Mythic Dawn preparing for another swing. _Come on._

Up ahead, a copse of enormous pine trees was blocking his path. He might just have enough time to get around it-

The sword came down. Templar pulled right this time but his opponent predicted it, and the tip of the blade scratched down his horse's haunch. It whinnied in shock. He looked up. There were two big pine trees _right there we won't be able to stop in time _but there was the slimmest gap between them-

His horse didn't slow. Templar closed his eyes, waited for a crunch. Instead, he felt bark scrape against both his legs and shouted at the sudden pain. There was a sickening _crunch!_ from behind.

His horse had managed to somehow slip _through_ the thicket of trees, but his pursuer hadn't been so lucky. He and his horse were a screaming, tangled mess of limbs lying at the base of a rotting trunk. _Probably lost some skin off my legs_. He looked down. _Yep, definitely lost some._

The other three Mythic Dawn hadn't given up, and had emerged from around their fallen brother, still going strong. Two of them were slipping off to the left, probably hoping to catch him in some sort of pincer movement.

Hooves thumped through the leaf litter. Looming up ahead was a steep hill, basically a cliff made of soil and grass, but beyond that he could see Cheydinhal's battlements. Almost there, and still alive. _I just have to get around this ridge somehow._

CRACK!

The world jerked up, then spun crazily. Templar heard his horse neigh loudly, felt himself fly through the air, spinning, arms out, then _slam_ into the ground, the wind knocked out of him, skidding through the dirt, body aching.

He came to a stop, clutching his stomach. _Owwww… _After a few dazed moments, he felt strong enough to lift his head from the cool earth. His horse was lying on the ground, on its side. One of its legs was sticking out at a funny angle, and he thought he could see the rock that had broken it a few metres behind. _Poor animal. Must have slipped. Well, I'm surprised we made it this far. _He took a few deep breaths, looked around for his pursuers. In their haste to get in front of him, it didn't look like they'd seen his fall. _But they most certainly heard it._

He stood up, and took a few experimental steps. _Nothing broken._ His horse was crying out pitifully behind him, but he put it out of his mind. _I'll come back in the morning and find you. Promise. _He took a few more steps, tottering forwards, felt his head spin. Rivulets of blood trickled down his calves. He knelt down for a second. _Okay, let's go. Almost there._

Templar pushed himself to his feet and ran on. The shrieking of human voices could be heard now, some distance to his left. Then to his right. Then ahead. Unable to catch him, the Mythic Dawn were gathering their forces to cut him off.

Templar paused and looked around. He _knew _that the city was just to the west, but between him and it was an almost-sheer hillside. However… to his left was a fallen tree-trunk, and, close by, a sloped boulder. He ran to it and climbed the rock, then stepped out onto the moss-covered trunk. Nimbly he moved along it, to where it joined the side of the hill, some five metres above the ground. There was some sort of ivy-like growth here and Templar began to climb, clutching the interwoven roots and vines. Below him three mounted Mythic Dawn had gathered, shouting curses. A hurled dagger skimmed against the hillside by his head. He climbed onwards. A clod of dirt gave way beneath his foot, but he clung on, drawing himself towards the top of the incline, the flat tableaux at the top. He heard the creaking of wood below, and glanced back. Several of the cultists had left their horses behind and were scaling the tree trunk.

He reached the top, fingers aching. Easing himself onto the gentler ground, Templar gazed around in the moonlight. There was a path to the west, leading towards the city walls, through the dark forest. Moving swiftly, he began to run, but as he entered the trees beyond he heard the sound of boots upon the grass, and more angry shouts ahead of him. With a soft curse he backed out onto the hill. The only way he could go was _away _from the city, and he didn't fancy his chances if that happened.

No, the only way he could go was… up?

_Maybe I can hide in the trees. It's dark. And isn't it a fact that most people don't look up very often?_

He looked around. There was an elderly oak a few metres away, with dense foliage that would probably hide him. He began to climb the rough bark, taking advantage of the splayed branches.

"Brothers, be watchful! He's in the trees!"

_Shit._ Some eagle-eyed Mythic Dawn had seen him climbing, but he supposed the only choice he had was to keep going. But not for much longer.

He stopped at two metres from the top. There were six of them now, swarming around the bottom of the tree. They were yelling at him, but he ignored them; one had begun to climb. _Why am I up here again? _He racked his brain for any ideas.

_There'd be no point in using spells against six of the bastards, even if I was full up on magicka. _Instead, he broke off a stick, and idly threw it at the climbing man. It hit him on the shoulder, but didn't do any major damage.

_Hm. _He looked over to where the next tree's branches intertwined with his own, a mess of red, yellow and orange reduced to grey by the moonlight. _If I could get to the city using the trees… that would be insane. But it _would_ work. _There was another oak quite close by, and beyond that…

He glanced at the tree opposite, gauging the distance to the nearest strong-looking branch. Five feet at least. On the flat he could make the jump with ease, but on a narrow tree branch, fifteen metres in the air?

He crouched on the tree branch, legs quivering, then launched himself forward. He leapt, his left leg stretching out and propelling him out over the gap. For one terrifying moment he thought he had misjudged his leap… but then he landed and curled himself around the opposite branch. A pointed stick dug into his side, tearing the skin. Templar swore again. Pulling himself up, he felt the wound. It was shallow, but bleeding copiously. _Just another scratch to add to the collection._

He looked down below, where the cultists were now clustered around his new 'hiding place'. He made his way along the branch, shimmied around the trunk and crawled onto the adjacent tree, no jumping required. This one was a drooping willow, and the stringy leaves trailed across his shoulders like ghostly fingers, making him shiver. He balanced carefully, using handholds, keeping his eyes forward.

Onto the next tree. The Mythic Dawn had figured out what he was doing now, and were scaling the trees _ahead_ of him, to cut him off. Onto the next tree. Templar felt that what he was doing was slightly ludicrous, but he only had himself to blame. _And my dratted author._

One of the cultists was almost level with him now, and was climbing through the canopy towards him. He was holding a dagger in one hand, something that Templar was sadly without. He looked around and saw a dead-looking branch, which he managed to snap off with an ear-splitting crack. _Of course, it's hard to tell what anything is when it's so gods-damned dark. _The branch was about a metre long and had a kink in the middle. Not an ideal weapon, but it would serve against the red-robed shadow that was inching towards him.

He swung wildly, almost losing his balance, catching onto a branch above him with one hand. The cultist was forced backwards, dagger glinting softly. He came to attack again, but the cloaked man kicked at him, the foot impacting with his knee and spinning him alarmingly. Templar lashed out again but hit nothing but air.

The dagger swiped at him and he swayed aside, leaning out, half-crouching. But the Mythic Dawn agent had come in too close; Templar raised the stick and swung, catching him solidly in the side, winding him. On reflex the cultists doubled over, holding his stomach. Templar hit him again and the cultist finally lost his balance, tumbling down through the branches, cracks echoing through the air, until he fell to the ground in a cloud of dry leaves.

Templar moved forward. His feet were hurting, probably bleeding as well. There was still shouting from below, but it was more distant. It was almost completely dark here, and he tried to descend a little, moving blindly, feeling his way. He stumbled upon a thick bough and moved onwards, leaves crunching all around. Here there was a gap in the foliage, and the faint moonlight illuminated a – garden?

_Oh, yes. _He scrambled along to the end of the branch, and dropped the three metres to the garden below, almost landing on a rosebush. The grass softened his fall.

Here there was a lower wall, no more than two metres high. Wiping his hands he leapt, curling his fingers over the stone and hauling himself to the top. The street - _street!_ - beyond was empty. Templar silently lowered himself to the cobbles and ran on. This road led to Cheydinhal's western gate, and his heart leapt.

He raced towards the city. The high stone walls had never looked so appealing. There were people chasing him behind, he could hear them, but there were sentries on the walls. Sentries meant people, and people meant witnesses. Someone shrieked in the distance. Ducking on instinct, Templar sprinted for the gates.

The sounds of pursuit were fading. The city gates were open, and he thought he could make out dark figures beyond them, the comforting light of torches. He couldn't hear any shouts of alarm from the sentries. Yet. Legs burning, breath running out, Templar reached the shadow of the walls just ahead of the mob, half-dazed, and realised he could go no further. He spun to face them.

The road was… empty, a dark and silent path to nowhere. He was sure the Mythic Dawn were out there, past the torches' glow, but that didn't matter anymore.

He looked back around, into the city. There was a darkened square in front of him. Several people were talking by lanternlight in the corners, and some sort of statue was mounted in the centre. Shops and houses surrounded the square, all with the distinctive pointed rooves and squared-off windows prevalent in the Nibenay region. Several streets opened off from the far end, one of them crossing the river than ran through the city, another winding around towards the enormous stone Chapel.

He wondered which road led to the western gate, and decided to ask one of the bystanders.

"Templar?"

That was Baurus' voice. The Blade had been sitting on one of the benches in the plaza, and was now walking towards him. He had ditched his Mythic Dawn cloak, and was wearing his usual Blades armour. "I was wondering where you were. Did you fall off your horse?"

"I did, Baurus. I did. Then I climbed some trees." For one short moment, Templar felt ridiculously happy to be alive.

Then he fainted.

_Continue at the main story block._

* * *

2

Templar took one look at his bruised hand, imagined galloping through the unfamiliar dark woods extremely quickly on an animal he was mildly afraid of AND didn't know how to steer, and made the logical decision.

"Sorry, Baurus. I don't think I can do it. I'm riding with you."

The Blade let out a rather explosive breath. "It would be so much easier if I could just let you _die!_"

"Well, I know it's disappointing, but that's a bit harsh."

"Just wait here." Baurus disappeared into the stable again, and came out leading a jet-black stallion. It was then that the first Mythic Dawn cultists appeared at the entrance to the clearing.

"_THERE! STOP THEM! THEY HAVE THE BOOK!"_

Baurus vaulted up onto the horse's saddle. "Templar! Take my hand and put your foot in the dangling thing!"

_I hope THIS horse decides to behave like a civilised mammal. _He walked closer, took the Blade's advice and levered himself up so one foot was in the stirrup, grasping the saddle with one hand and Baurus with the other.

"Okay," the Blade muttered. "Now just heave yourself up. Get your legs balanced."

He felt the animal jerking this way and that underneath him as he hoisted one leg over the horse's back, sliding around, and slowly turned himself so he was sitting in the saddle, just behind Baurus. _Hm, it's kind of high up here…_

"Now, put your arms around my shoulders, and hang on _tight_._"_

_Oh gods_. Templar did so. The Mythic Dawn were running towards them, trying to block off the canyon. Some of them were already at the gate, while others were trying to get to the stable and take some horses for themselves.

Baurus slapped his legs against the stallion's sides, and gave out a yell. The animal reared, the world tipped _ahhh I'm falling I'm gonna fall off hold on _and came back down, jolted Templar's backside, and-

They were speeding ahead, muscles rippling beneath him, their mount snorting wildly as it accelerated. Hooves clipped through the grass and he held on for dear life as the horse galloped forwards, bumping up and down. Baurus pulled the horse to the left, dodging around a pair of cultists that were running right at them, splashing their faces with dew. _AHHHHHHH-_

There were four Mythic Dawn standing side by side at the canyon entrance. Baurus rode them down, crouched low over the horse's neck, egging it on. Closer, closer, bearing down as fast as the wind, until three of them broke and ran to the side. The last was the only one wearing armour, and he readied his weapon to slice into the horse's flank. The Blade pulled out a sword of his own, riding one handed, they were close enough to see the stubble on the guard's chin, and then the horse _jumped_ and they were in the air, Templar clutching Baurus in a death-grip, and then Baurus swept his sword downwards in a clash of metal and they were through.

Into the canyon, the rocky walls speeding past, winding left and winding right, swaying wildly. Out of the canyon and into the woods, through trees _BRANCH!_ ducking under a low-hanging branch. The horse jumped again, and his stomach did a backflip. _Just hold on tight. _The darkness didn't make things any better, and he found it was almost more bearable if he closed his eyes. More trees, more trees-

Templar almost slipped off as they turned sharply left, along the shores of the lake. The tip of Baurus' sword was slicked with blood as he re-sheathed it. The world sped by at a relentless pace.

_"CUT THEM OFF! USE THE HORSES!"_

Baurus let the horse slow slightly as they splashed across the narrowest part of the pool, past a little waterfall where the river fed into the lake. The water was icy cold. Behind them, several Mythic Dawn riders were galloping through the forest in hot pursuit.

Baurus steered the horse between two low trees. Ahead was a rough path leading east-west, but the Blade ignored it and rode straight into the wilderness. Templar found that he was getting used to the horse now, the up-and-down motion, the ungodly speed with which they were racing through the dark forest. Baurus led them around a rocky patch of ground, dodged an inconveniently-placed thornbush, then they were in the air suddenly _jumping_ off a small ridge. The horse neighed as they hit the ground again half a second later.

Templar still had his arms around the Blade's shoulders and could feel Baurus' tensed muscles through the Mythic Dawn cloak he still wore. He heard three more thumps from behind as the pursuing riders made the same jump.

Then they were cantering downhill, branches whipping past on either side, dodging buried stones and crashing through the tall grass. Baurus was forced to slow as the moon passed behind a cloud, plunging the world into complete darkness. Baurus swore softly. "I can't see anything, gods-damnit." They were now only going at a slow trot, and even then Baurus had to swerve suddenly to avoid a boulder that loomed up out of the darkness. Templar listened for a moment, and could hear that the Mythic Dawn had slowed as well.

They kept riding, as fast as they dared. "Split up!" someone yelled. "We can surround them in the dark."

_Well, thanks for telling us, idiot._

The ground was fairly flat, now, gently rolling up and down. Hooves crunched on the thick leaf litter, frighteningly loud. It prevented them from slipping away from the Dawn, but also prevented the Dawn from sneaking up on them.

Then the clouds passed, and moonlight once again streamed down through the canopy. Baurus immediately kicked the horse into a gallop again and they raced onwards.

Templar looked around; the cultists had made good on their promise. A pair of riders were roughly level with them about twenty metres to the right, while a single cultists had curved around to their left, so they were blocked off on either flank. Another two riders were approaching from a fair distance behind, but it didn't look like they'd be catching up for at least a few minutes.

Then, suddenly, he saw lanternlight up ahead – four glowing yellow squares. A thatched roof, a fenced yard. "Baurus!" he shouted. "It's a house! We can shelter there!"

"Not unless you want us all dead," the Blade replied without looking back. "How many people do you think live there? Three? Four? They're not soldiers, and the Dawn would butcher them in a heartbeat if it meant getting the Mysterium Xarxes back."

"Oh." _He's right._ The house passed them by, the comforting light swallowed up by the trees. He thought he saw a shadow in one of the windows, and wondered the house's occupants realised that a life or death chase was speeding past them. _Probably not._

They were galloping uphill again. He felt something stringy sweep across his face, a spiderweb probably. Templar looked down as he tried to brush it off, saw the ground as a dark blur. A bone-white mushroom was crushed under the horse's hooves. Then he realised that the Mythic Dawn riders to each side were _much_ closer, and were still angling towards them. "Uh, Baurus?"

"Yes?" the Blade said through clenched teeth.

"The Mythic Dawn are trying to pincer us."

"Pincer us? Oh, no. Templar, try and get the swords that are on my belt."

Their pursuers were five metres to either side and were riding one-handed, weapons drawn. He didn't doubt that if a blade scored a decent hit on their mount, the chase would be over. Templar reached around Baurus' robe, felt the handles of his two shortswords, tugged on them. They wouldn't give. He tugged again, twisted a little, and felt one of the swords slide out a little.

"Templar?"

"Almost got it. It's just wedged between-"

"Hold on."

The riders were coming in faster and faster, galloping along side by side. They dodged around a tree, then another, and came onto some clear ground. One of them raised his axe and let out a battle cry, robes billowing in the wind, two metres away, one metre, the axe coming down-

Baurus pulled back, hard. Their horse locked its legs and skidded along the grass, going from forty kilometres an hour to zero in a few seconds. Templar felt himself lurch forwards.

The cultist with the axe was unprepared for their sudden stop and overbalanced his swing, leaning far to the right, his horse veering the same way and _into_ the two other riders that had been cantering along on their other side!

One of the horses tumbled to the ground, spilling its rider onto the earth in a flailing heap. The other two managed to stay on their feet but had to slow down to regain control of their mounts. Baurus got their own horse moving again, and whispered a few encouraging words in its ear. He began to ride to the left, away from the other two riders.

While the sudden stop might have earned them some time, it had allowed the riders behind them to catch up, and they weren't carrying swords. They were carrying bows. The first arrow whizzed past them two seconds later.

"What was that?" Baurus asked.

"An arrow, I think." Templar had managed to get hold one on of Baurus' swords, but felt that it was slightly useless in their new predicament.

"How can they even see DUCK" – a low tree branch whipped by overhead – "see in this light? Or aim properly while riding a horse?"

"Maybe they're just _that_ good," Templar replied. Another arrow thunked into a tree trunk to the left, some distance away. "Doesn't look like they'll hit us for a while yet though."

"Yeah, but one of the other horses has come back around."

Templar looked to where Baurus had pointed. One of their pursuers had closed the gap, was angling in from the right with a sword in hand. He came closer, leaping over a mossy boulder, dodging through a grove of pines. And closer. And closer.

"We can't outrun him, Templar," Baurus said matter-of-factly. "Our horse is getting tired. You're going to have to deal with it."

"No more tricks up your sleeve?"

"No."

The other rider was three metres away, then two. He turned towards them, so Templar could see the murder in his eyes. Templar switched his sword to his other hand, and got ready to block.

The rider came up alongside them just as they crested a hill. He swung, but wasn't quite close enough to hit them. Then they were speeding downwards again, the incline much steeper than before, the wind rushing past in his ears. The world bumped up and down in a sickening haze. _Fast fast fast fast fast. If that horse hits something, we're gonna be a bloody red smear on the ground-_

Their opponent swung again, seemingly without care for his own safety. Templar leaned out desperately, half-pulling Baurus out of his seat, and managed to block the slash.

The cultist drew away briefly, and then came back hard, his horse grinding against their own in a crazy version of bumper cars. He tried to stab at Baurus but Templar got in first, putting his on sword in the way and locking them hilt-to-hilt. The cultist pressed against them, muscles straining, close enough to smell the sweat on his forehead. Templar pressed back, trying to push him away. _Surely he can't keep this up. He's not even looking where he's going, for Akatosh's sake._

Then Templar realised he was still clinging to Baurus with one hand. _If I could just let go for a second and get that arm free-_

He let go, and punched the Mythic Dawn rider in the face. Hard.

Their opponent recoiled in shock and dropped his sword, clutching his nose. His horse slowed and peeled away. Templar almost lost his balance and quickly re-formed his death-grip around Baurus waist with his other arm.

"Thanks," Baurus said.

"You're wel-"

Their horse screamed as something thwacked into its side. Something thin and long with feathers on the end was sticking out of its stomach just behind Baurus' left leg. They were coming up to a fallen tree trunk, closer and closer, Baurus tried to steer the animal around but it was rearing in pain-

The horse's legs smashed into the trunk and it flipped forwards, throwing the world upside down for a split-second. There was a sickening crack. Templar felt himself lose his grip on the horse and fly through the air, whirling around, then suddenly crashing down into a bush. Baurus fell with the horse, his hands tangled up in the rains. It landed on its side and slid along the ground for a few metres, kicking up dirt, dragging the Blade along behind it.

Templar felt pain all along his back, twigs digging into him, couldn't breathe. He stared up at the stars above. _Stars. Stars. Stars…_

His eyes slowly lost their glassy look and he remembered where he was. _Forest. Chase. Right._ He tried experimentally moving his limbs, and didn't find any serious problems. Luckily, the moon chose that moment to disappear behind some more clouds, which would hopefully give them some cover.

"Templar! Get up!" Baurus was jogging into the trees, limping slightly. _Man, that guy is invincible_.

The Blade turned, waited for Templar to catch up. He pushed himself to his feet and felt one of his knees crack unpleasantly. _Nothing broken, though. _He ran after the Blade, head spinning, breathing hoarsely, stumbling over a rabbit hole. The horse was still neighing desperately behind them; he looked back and saw it lying on the ground, legs kicking at the air. The arrow was a pitch-black brushstroke sticking out of its side.

Horses crashed through the brush somewhere to the left. Another arrow whistled through the air, ricocheting off a rock. Baurus was following some sort of animal trail, up the hillside in front of them. It was hard to move quietly, as the autumn had created a thick pall of fallen leaves underfoot.

Up the hill. He was almost certain the Dawn had found their fallen horse, and from there it would be relatively easy to figure out where the two of them had gone. Baurus kept moving up ahead, scrambling over some gravel. Then the Blade cut into the woods to the right, off the trail, through a dark grove of pines. Templar followed, keeping low, using the trees for cover. He looked back down the incline, and fancied he could see shadows moving through the forest.

"This way!"

Someone shouted, extremely close. There was a distant reply, then a cracking sound to the east. Baurus stopped for a moment, listening.

They crouched there, stock still, almost invisible. The moonlight didn't penetrate much through the canopy, and unless someone walked directly over them they would be difficult to find. Crickets chirped in the gloom. Templar shivered in his thin tunic.

"Over here! They were following this trail!" Another shout. There was the sound of a sword being drawn.

A different voice, a woman: "I think they left the path."

Templar's eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, and to his shock he saw a pair of Mythic Dawn cultists standing in the undergrowth not six feet away. He suppressed a yell.

He lifted one foot carefully, tried to move back a little, behind a thick bush. Then another foot. Then _SNAP! _A twig was caught underneath his heel and broke in two, with a sound like a gunshot in the cool night air.

Two faces whirled around. "Is that-"

Baurus began sprinting away, zig-zagging through the forest, up the hill again. Templar leapt up. A sword descended towards him. He twisted away, kicked out, struck something soft. Then he was off, chasing after the Blade. _Strength in numbers, after all. Though two against twelve is still fairly bad odds, even for me._

He blundered up the hillside, through low scrub and rough bark. The pair of Mythic Dawn were jostling together behind him, calling out to their brethren. The distinctive sound of horse's hooves was coming closer again. Clip-clop. Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

Then something big and black blundered past, and he threw himself to the side. He felt the air rush past his face. It bore down on Baurus, almost trampling him before the Blade managed to shield himself behind a tree. The horse galloped onwards, then whinnied as its rider stopped and turned around. Templar kept running forwards, all too aware of the cultists catching up behind him.

The horse was coming back. Its rider had drawn a weapon, and it wasn't galloping towards them. He was being more cautious, trying to force towards the other Mythic Dawn. Templar realised that they were almost at the top of the hill. He could see the crest up ahead, the stars twinkling in the sky. His feet were hurting, badly.

Baurus was only slightly in front, running madly through the trees, angling left. "Templar, look!" he shouted.

Templar hauled himself up the last few metres until the terrain flattened out. He looked over to where the Blade's outstretched finger was pointing. Orange pinpricks of light, a dozen of them, bobbing up and down amongst the trees a few hundred metres downhill. _Torches. People._ A fair number of them too, hopefully enough of them to turn the Mythic Dawn away. The city walls were still just big black silhouettes in the distance, at least a mile away.

"HELP! OVER HERE!" Baurus yelled out, waving his arms, the shout echoing through the hills. It was almost certain that the party wouldn't be able to see them, but Templar thought that the torches might have started heading in their direction…

Templar began to run, again, leaves whipping past his face. The first horse was nowhere to be seen, but a _second_ rider was off somewhere behind them. Another arrow twanged past, flying off into the distance. He ducked, and realised that they were sitting ducks as long as they were on top of the rise. But a few seconds later he was plunging downhill again, Baurus not far behind.

He was careening downhill, only just able to stay upright. Templar was running out of stamina, and this time he could tell there wasn't much more left in him.

"OVER HERE!" he shouted. Through the trees he could see the faintest yellow flicker, the edges of the shadows becoming slightly sharper. He twisted around a hollowed-out trunk, saw a four-legged shape rushing at him from the side, turned away. A spear-point stabbed towards him but he was out of range.

The glow was getting brighter. He heard someone trip over behind him with a grunt of pain. And then he burst out into a clearing, into the comforting glow of torchlight. His face was slicked with sweat, blood from a scratch trickling down his nose, tunic ripped and torn. He didn't even want to know about his legs.

Baurus was there two seconds later, not looking much better. Templar regarded the group of people before them in amazement.

There was fifteen of them, men and women of all ages. All were wearing thick robes in mage's blue, embroidered in swirling gold patterns. They each carried tall wooden staves, some with ornate carvings or mounted with glowing crystal orbs. Imperials, a few elves, an Argonian, even an elderly Khajiit with long whiskers. They stood in a rough semicircle in the middle of the clearing, watching the two of them with some curiosity.

"Who are you?" one of the party said, stepping forwards. It was a young woman, tall and brown-haired.

Baurus found his voice first. "The Emperor's – Blades," he answered, pausing for breath. "Who – are you?"

"A patrol from the Mages' Guild. We're investigating some necromancer activity in this area."

"Oh thank god," Templar said. _Words cannot describe my relief at this very moment. _He felt like laughing.

"And why are the pair of you looking so desperate on this fine evening?" the woman continued. Her accent sounded high-born, and not particularly forgiving.

"We were being hunted by the Mythic Dawn," Baurus answered. "Our orders were to retrieve something from their base of operations, which they reacted… poorly to."

"I see." The mage thought for a moment. "Would you class their activities as 'necromantic?' The Mythic Dawn are still a relatively mysterious group to us."

"Evil, despicable and devil-worshipping, yes. Necromantic, no. Unfortunately. But they _were _chasing us. In fact-"

Baurus stopped to listen. It was almost silent, with only the occasional crackle of leaves to reveal the path of a prowling animal. The Dawn had melted ghost-like, back into the forest. _Ah, how wonderful. _

"Well, they were," the Blade continued. "But you've scared them off."

"Lucky for us," Templar added.

"Indeed." The mage turned to one of her companions, a middle-aged man with broad shoulders who looked profoundly unhappy to be there. She murmured something in his ear, and he nodded slowly. The other mages waited silently, robes shifting slightly in the night breeze. Some of them shivered and muttered amongst themselves. After a long moment, their leader looked over at Templar with a piercing gaze.

"If you need an escort back to the city, I would be willing to provide one. It sounds like you've kicked the hornet's nest, so to speak. Otherwise, you are welcome to join us in our hunt, but it's likely to be a long night."

"I'd rather the escort, if you don't mind," Baurus said quickly. Templar nodded in agreement.

"Very well. Brawne Lamia and Het Masteen, you will accompany these two back to Cheydinhal. Meet us at Hero's Hill in an hour."

"Yes ma'am." The Khajiit and another mage detached themselves from the group and began walking towards them, torches in hand and burning brightly.

_Hm, I'm liking the mages' guild more and more_, he thought to himself. _Or maybe I just have coincidence to blame_.

'_Coincidence, Templar? You don't give me enough credit.'_

_What?_

"If you'll come this way." The mage known as Brawne Lamia was indicating for them to follow, back into the dark forest. Back to safety.

"Lead on," Templar said brightly. And then he fainted.

_Continue at the main story block._

* * *

Main Story

A wall of fire.

In Leyawiin, the Blade Belisarius stood with his brothers and sisters, and waited for the beginning of the end of the world.

Smoke and ash choked the air, the grass was black and dead underfoot, and flames licked at the trees in a ring of heat and fire. The city walls were lined with fallen weapons and dead men. The cloudy sky smelled of iron and death. In the distance was the awful red jewel of the gate, flickering, swelling, a door to nightmares.

It was hell's battlefield, and Belisarius still had trouble accepting what was happening. It was undoubtedly the biggest battle he had ever seen, perhaps the biggest battle on Cyrodiil's soil in a hundred years. Thousands of men, thousands of daedra, more than an entire day of solid struggle. A river that ran red with blood.

The Oblivion gate had opened thirty-six hours ago, and they had been fighting ever since. The quick reactions of the city guard had meant Leyawiin was still standing, and none of the daedra had made it into the city… but the forests around had been burned for miles around, the farmsteads and villages razed to the ground. The Imperial Legions had arrived soon after, helping to push the daedra away from the city, forming a defensive perimeter, and then slowly surrounding the gate through sheer manpower as reinforcements trickled in. The Blades had arrived soon after and now they were attempting to tighten the noose: press the daedra back towards the portal, metre by metre, before getting close enough to mount an assault on the Oblivion gate itself.

He watched the Legionnaire general stand upon the burning, bloody plain. Men and armour swarmed forwards, towards the spiky mass of daedra that still surrounded the Oblivion Gate, fighting amidst the blackened stumps of the Great Forest. The first forces had already engaged, and waves of men and hellish creatures were breaking upon each other like a bloody, metallic ocean.

He made sure his shield was secure upon his arm, and drew his sword. Beside him, several dozen other Blades did the same. The general gave an order, and they moved out from the shadow of Leyawiin's walls. _Form a spearhead. Pierce the enemy forces. Form a beachhead so the heavy troops can be funnelled into the portal._

It sounded like a plan, but the reality was chaos.

* * *

_Clip-clop… clip-clop… clip-clop._ _Up and down, up and down._

Templar swam through a sea of dreams. The first rays of sunlight were peeking over the horizon.

_Standing over someone important. Watching them sleep. Out of his mind, not realising what he would set in motion._

_ A clown made of the stuff of nightmares. A walking man with an evil grin (_that one was a bit weird,_ he thought to himself in an oddly lucid way). _

_ A chain of events that balanced on a knife-edge. And darkness, and wings, and pinpricks._

Until suddenly, he broke the surface. Thoughts trickled from his mind. "Stop banging the coconuts!" he yelled loudly, his voice somewhat muffled by the hair that filled his mouth.

He opened his eyes, and saw black. He was… lying down? But it felt like he was standing at the same time. "Baurus!" he shouted, unsure of what was going on.

"Over here, Templar," the Blade replied.

Templar promptly straightened up, like a rake that someone had stepped on. "Oh."

He was sitting on a jet-black horse, his legs tied to its sides so he wouldn't fall. Baurus was a few metres in front, leading Templar along from atop his own mount. It was early morning, just after sunrise, his breath clouding in the freezing air. They were on the Blue Road which led from Cheydinhal to Lake Rumare; it was almost flat as it snaked through the wilting autumn forests. Hooves clicked on the cobbles as the early birds began to sing.

"Good morning," Templar said weakly. "Early start?" _I swear that man doesn't need sleep. And I won't even _ask_ where he got the new horses from._

"I figure we have to get back to the Temple as quickly as possible. Martin and Jauffre will want to know what happened."

Templar's heart sank. "I suppose they will." He busied himself untying the makeshift harness that had kept him upright while he slept. His fingers felt like logs. "Well, we tried. I tried to get Lieutenant Caroline to send some backup with me, but something – oh!" He blinked in realisation.

"What?"

"They just had news of another gate opening in Leyawiin. They were going to try and help close it."

"Hm. I knew the gate was there, but I didn't know the Blades were," Baurus replied. "Good luck to them."

Templar frowned. "Is that all you can say? Good luck?"

"Well, we can't do much to help, can we. Their fate is in the hands of others now."

"I suppose." Templar thought back over the events of the previous night. Even if they hadn't regained the Amulet of Kings, they'd surely dealt the Mythic Dawn a heavy blow. _They'll have to move their headquarters, now that we know where it is - plus we killed a fair few of them. And, of course, there's the book._

"Do you still have that… book we stole? From the altar?"

Baurus took something from one of his saddlebags. The bone-white, leatherbound volume looked strangely benign in the morning light. Templar caught the briefest glimpse of the daedric designs on the cover before the Blade put it back out of sight.

"Oh, good. I hope it's useful."

They fell into silence. Their mounts walked along placidly. Their panicked escape seemed a whole world away, and Templar was surprised that he kind of _liked_ horseriding. It saved him the effort of walking, at least, which _is something I've done far too much of in two weeks._ He felt a strange connection with the animal beneath him; though last night's forest ride was hardly the ideal time and place for his first experience, it had forced him to learn quickly. He still wasn't used to the peculiarly elevated viewpoint it gave him, but he was… comfortable.

Then Templar remembered his pack. "My pack!" he exclaimed.

"Your pack?"

"Yes, my pack."

"What pack?"

"MY pack. I left it outside the Mythic Dawn caverns."

"Unless your pack has something extremely important in it, I suggest we leave it there," the Blade replied matter-of-factly.

"But it's my pack!"

"No. It _was_ your pack."

"But my pack had all my things in it! Armour! Camping gear! Weapons! Food! BOOKS!"

"If you want to go back and get it – and get chased through the woods all over again – you're welcome to," Baurus said without turning around. "But events are gathering up some pace, here, and we DO need to get back to the Temple as quickly as possible."

_Ah, well. I suppose I can start over. _"Fine," Templar said grumpily. "You're right, as always."

* * *

By midday they were on the Red Ring Road, thanks to their – _or more accurately, Baurus'_ – early start. They would be able to reach Bruma the next morning. To their right was the endless sea of hilly green known as the Heartlands, interspersed with rolling wheat fields and rows upon rows of sheep paddocks. Except now the green was turning to orange and yellow and red, and the end of the year was approaching. _If we ever get that far. _To the left, in the distance, lay the glittering/shimmering/sparkling/dazzling expanse of Lake Rumare, depending on your choice of adjective. They passed a ruined fort, abandoned sometime in the last few peaceful centuries. _Maybe it'll be rebuilt again._

As they clopped along, Templar tried to make some light conversation. He figured that discussing serious matters would be pointless until they returned to Cloud Ruler Temple. "Baurus. How would you describe Lake Rumare today?"

"Iridescent," the Blade replied after a moment's though.

"Hm. Well, the weather's nice at least."

"Yes."

They clopped along some more.

"It's occurred to me," Templar began. "…That we may have got off on the wrong foot."

"What makes you think that?" Baurus answered lightly.

"Well… There was the whole Emperor thing under the prison. And the hunt for the Mythic Dawn, and how I completely ruined your plans last night. I feel like you've always been kind of frosty to me. Like you're behind a shield, or a mask, and you want to stay distant. Not just from me, from everyone."

The Blade took a deep breath. _I hope he doesn't get angry. _"The Emperor's death is not something I blame you for. It was just that I needed someone to blame. I didn't want him to die, but at the same time I somehow_ knew_ he had to… Maybe some small part of me _did_ want him to die. And as for everything else – people have conflicting interests regarding you, and I don't know why."

"I realise I've only been around for two weeks, and apparently I'm the Emperor's best friend and a member of the Blades and running into Oblivion gates. This is all kind of sudden for me, too."

Baurus shook his head. "It's not that. You're a problem, an enigma, a solution. For some reason you're vital to everything – or that's what they tell me."

"Uhh… okay. Who are 'they?'?" _This is news._

"Sorry. Can't tell you." Baurus clammed up. "And Templar?"

"M-hmm?"

"When Jauffre asks about our… little adventure, leave me out of it. You told me to come and wait for you in the forest, so I did. I was _never in_ the Lake Arrius caverns. I had nothing to do with the Amulet getting taken. Got that?"

"Why?" Templar asked, bewildered.

"I wasn't supposed to be there. Officially, I'm still in the Imperial City." The Blade didn't elaborate.

"It sounds to _me_ like you've got conflicting interests, Baurus," Templar said slowly. "You sure you don't want to tell me what they are?"

Baurus smiled bitterly. "Nope. I have my reasons. If they're good ones is up for debate. This Empire, this country, you, me, we all have a fate that is fast approaching – but that fate changes every day."

"Does this have something to do with Akavir?" Templar asked, thinking.

"Yes."

"The lesser of two evils?"

"Something like that." But the Blade would say no more.

* * *

They stopped for lunch at a roadside inn, Templar's mind whirling with possibilities. Next time that blue-glowing woman showed up, he thought he'd have a firm talk with her about what the hell was going on.

Templar ordered a cup of coffee, and offered it to Baurus: "Coffee?"

"Yes, it is," came the deadpan reply.

"Well… suit yourself."

* * *

A starry sky.

They camped for the night at the junction between the Silver and Orange roads, about twenty kilometres from Bruma. Templar was forced to share Baurus' bedroll, since his own had been carelessly left behind at Lake Arrius. But it was plenty big enough, and the Blade didn't seem to mind _too_ much.

Templar lay back, looking at the stars. Beside him, Baurus did the same. Trees encircled the edges of his vision, dark and silent sentinels. A campfire crackled in the middle of the clearing. It radiated warmth, and had cooked their dinner of rabbit-meat quite nicely.

_I'm sure he's been expecting this. But here goes. _"Okay, Baurus," Templar said forcefully. "No offence, but all of that cryptic shit this morning – why tell me?"

"You deserve to know. This way, in the back of your mind, you might be prepared for things to come."

"More cryptic shit." Templar sighed. "Or cryptic gold. Whatever. I suppose I'll have to be happy with that."

"Yep. Sorry."

He looked over, and saw that the Blade was almost smiling in the darkness. _Now, there's something I don't see often._ Templar decided to let the matter rest, for the moment. It was good to talk to someone he – he realised that he _did_ trust Baurus – and someone who had problems of their own. "It feels like my life before all this was irrelevant," he said after a moment's silence. "I've done so much since I was set free. But some part of still feels empty, when I try and remember the last thirty years and come up with a big fat blank."

"We're all pawns, pieces on the board of the universe. That's all there is to it. Perhaps it _is_ better that you forgot how the gods played you," the Blade replied.

"I like to think that we humans have some modicum of free will…"

"Maybe believing makes it so. But the gods are the ones up there" – he pointed at the sky – "and we're the ones down here. Maybe it's for our own good."

"You know what?" Templar murmured. "I'd like to decide that for myself."

Baurus was quiet for a minute. "What sign were you born under?"

Templar winced, the same wince he'd probably given every time some kid had asked that question in the schoolyard. "The Lady. I can remember that at least."

"My birthsign was the Steed. Did _you_ decide what sign you were born under?"

"No… but that was pure chance."

"Fate, chance. Perhaps they're two sides of the same coin."

The fire burned lower and lower. Masser and Secunda rose above the treetops, stared down at them like two mismatched, unblinking eyes. A slight breeze picked up, ruffling the grass. Insects swarmed around the flames.

Templar had almost dozed off before Baurus spoke up again, a strange regret in his voice. "About earlier… we're just… different. It's not that I don't _want_ to be a friend. It's that I can't."

"Well… thanks for saying so," Templar replied.

"You're welcome."

And with that, they sat back and watched the stars.

* * *

Belisarius decided that he hated blood. Mixed with mud on the shores of the Lower Niben it was slippery and treacherous, but when it dried on the hilt of a sword it stuck like glue and made the weapon hard to handle. Nevertheless, they were gaining back ground, step by bloody step.

An axe flashed for his face. Swaying to the right, Belisarius swept up a vicious two-handed cut that glanced off the edge of his enemy's shield and smashed into its cheek. The dremora was punched from his feet. Belisarius stepped over it.

_The screams of wounded men, soldiers by his side. In five years with the Blades, Belisarius had fought in the distant west in Hammerfell, as far east as Morrowind, and in the snowy northern mountains of Vvardenfell: just small engagements, eliminating spies and protecting his Emperor. But he'd never thought he'd be facing a demonic army by the shores of his hometown._

A clannfear slashed wildly at him, off-balance in the mud and blood, and Belisarius dodged the claws, deflecting it off his shield. Clannfear frills protected the upper body, so the Blade dropped to one knee with his shield and speared his sword up into the creature's groin. As it fell it tripped sideways. Belisarius leapt up and chopped it across the forehead, scattering its brains. He stepped over it.

He risked a glimpse to his right, where several more of the Blades were fighting. He couldn't really see them, but it was hard to tell one sweat-covered warrior from another. Belisarius worried about them. He worried that they weren't cut out for this kind of fighting, weren't meant for open warfare. But Jauffre had told them that they _needed_ to close that gate, to prevent another disaster on the scale of Kvatch. He wondered if they were still alive.

A blood-drenched figure stepped out in front of him, another dremora with spiky red/black armour. Belisarius deflected the sword thrust on his shield, then drove his katana into the dremora's neck. _Fancy armour but no neck protection_, he thought, as the creature fell in front of him, its lifeblood pumping from its throat. He stepped over it.

A scamp stumbled into the mud in front of him with a great wound in its thigh. Belisarius plunged his blade into the beast's face. It shuddered and lay still. He stepped over it.

A huge creature ran at him. He was no longer surprised by the monsters that walked out of that damned gate; this one looked like a crocodile that walked upright, with scaled skin, thick limbs, immense claws and a long mouth filled with pointed teeth. _A daedroth. _Its muscular form stood perhaps two metres tall.

But it was fast and powerful and oddly smart, and the speed of its attack surprised Belisarius. He had to dodge those outstretched claws time and time again and was forced back. The crocodile seemed to grin at him. Again it attacked and Belisarius sent back a savage riposte that opened a wound in the creature's chest. Now it was Belisarius pushing forwards, his blade licking at that reptilian body, opening cuts as it went. Suddenly the crocodile stepped in, growling. One claw raked across Belisarius' arm. The Blade grunted and fell back, stumbling in the mud. The crocodile stamped down at Belisarius' head. He dodged down and lanced his sword up into the beast's belly. As his enemy fell, Belisarius paused for a moment then stepped over the body.

He realised his sword was getting blunt. He always carried a spare on his back, but he'd used that already. He'd have to watch out for a sharper one. After all, there was a chance he'd meet some bigger creature.

In front of him a Legion rider had been unhorsed. He was bleeding from several wounds and seemed dazed. Two scamps ran at him. Belisarius hurdled the horse's dead body and lunged at one of the daedra. His katana skewered into the scamp's armpit, and broke. He dived forward and swept up the legionnaire's fallen sword, rolling to his feet. The second scamp raked its claws across the rider's chest before Belisarius could hammer the sword into its skull. The rider fell face down in the mud and lay still. Belisarius looked down, stepped over the bodies.

He looked up just in time to see a killing blow that lanced towards his throat.

* * *

A wintry road. The ground to either side was covered in snow, freshly fallen, a lumpy white expanse that was fiercely bright in the morning sun. Naked trees raked the sky with their spindly fingers. Coming up ahead was the city of Bruma – and above it, perched upon a mountaintop, was Cloud Ruler Temple. They passed a few travellers heading for greener pastures, swathed in thick clothing and animal furs, as the distant peaks of the Jerall mountains marked Cyrodiil's northern borders.

It had been kind of pleasant, just sitting quietly, or talking about nothing in particular. The horses were going along at a fast trot, to try and keep warm. Their hooves crunched through the drifts, and they followed the road as best they could.

"Winter's coming," Baurus said, slightly redundantly.

_It is indeed._

* * *

Until, finally, the steps of Cloud Ruler were laid out before them, wide stone stairs that appeared to lead up into the sky. They had been cleared of snow, possibly to prevent anyone inconveniently falling down them.

The twin watchtowers by the gate were manned, and Baurus hailed the sentries. Almost immediately, the tall wooden gates began to swing open.

Baurus led the way, up the steps, past the lower courtyard with its grass covered in white, up towards the great hall with its sloped roof and blue stone and paper sliding doors. Towards the place which served as home – for the moment.

"We've failed, haven't we," Templar said sullenly as they climbed. "No matter how hard we tried, the Amulet is gone. Maybe forever. That was the key to everything, but now Mankar Camoran has taken it to a place we cannot enter. Jauffre, Martin, they'll all be… disappointed."

Baurus turned to him. "Wars are not won or lost as simply as that, Templar. Lake Arrius was a battle. No more, no less."

"But a battle we lost."

"Yes."

Templar thought of the battles to come, the incredible suffering and hardship they would bring. To himself, to the Blades, to Cyrodiil, to the entire world. _Dark times are ahead. But someone will have a plan. We'll recover._ "It's always darkest before dawn," he whispered. But the nagging voice in his mind said, _I don't think we're even past midnight yet._

* * *

In Leyawiin, the forests burned, and a legion of corpses burned with them. Blood slicked the ground, splashed over smouldered dirt and black grass. But the gate was gone. It would serve well to remember that; in spite of everything, the gate was _gone_.

Until the next one opened.

The Blade Belisarius looked away from the dead battleground; a bandage wrapped around one arm, a deep scratch on his neck. A dozen other Blades were gathered there, mourning fallen brothers: Arcturus Avitus and Fortis Martell,_ forever shall they be remembered_. His Lieutenant was still staring at the flames, at the melted rock where the gate had been when it finally snapped shut, at the piles of bodies. At the gates of the city, which were scarred and buckled but still unbreached.

"Caroline," he said, and she turned around so he could look her in the eyes.

"What, Bells?"

"Do you think… do you think that we're ever going to win?"

She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, fell silent. The firelight flickered. Her eyes seemed very blue.

"I don't know," she said at last. She seemed displeased with her answer; she struggled to say something more, to illuminate her first response, and could only say it again.

_I don't know._


	34. Extra Mildly Pointless Stuff

_FIY: For the people getting new chapter alerts, be aware that the newest chapter won't necessarily be the last one. This 'Extra Mildly Pointless Stuff' chapter will always be last on the list; any new Templar-focused chapters will be just before this, and any new Interlude chapters will be scattered throughout (every six chapters or so). I'm also occasionally updating old chapters, but I'm not sure if that sends out an alert or not. _

BONUS MATERIAL – DELETED SCENE(S)

_Yes, you heard that right. Because this story is rambling and self-indulgent (yeah, okay, it actually has some quite good bits in it too) things tend to expand as I write, since anything that comes into my head is put down on the page. This means I occasionally cut things that don't work or are too long or just out of place. Most of these 'deleted scenes' are still decent, however, so... here's a bit of extra randomness._

SCENE #1: Escaping the demons in Water's Edge

_This features the return of a rather unlucky legionnaire from Kvatch, and is a continuation of Bran's little tale which takes place between him fleeing in the forest and Summer's epilogue. However, it was basically too long (an intended four pages turned into eleven) and there wasn't room to fit it in. The chapter works just as well without it, but... it's five pages of stuff that I spent time writing. It also includes footnotes for extra lulz, which can be found at the end of the 'scene'._

He crept forwards cautiously, the crooked stone walls of the alleyway providing a nice, shadowed hiding place. It emerged onto a narrow street of merchant's shops and run-down houses. He poked his head around the corner and glanced about, but the town was as lifeless as the moon. _Fled or dead, I wonder?_

It was clear of the daedra, at least. He sheathed his sword and beckoned to the boy who stood lifelessly in the alley behind him. "Come on," he said softly. "I think everyone's run to Leyawiin. Those were probably the screams we – we heard earlier. There must have been mass panic when the village got news of the gate... whoever warned them."

The boy didn't answer. He never answered.

There was a dog following them as well. He assumed it was the boy's, a big grey thing that would occasionally whine at its master.

He walked out into the street. The boy trudged along, like something had... _Won't do me any good to think about it. He's alive, at least._

"I'm going to check these buildings," he told them both. "Call out if something comes. Or you, dog, bark if something comes. Okay?"

The dog sat there, panting. The boy was silent.

He sighed. "Just... keep quiet. I'll be back."

There was a two-storey wooden house on his left which he decided to try first. He tried to peer in through the windows, but they were all shut up tight, and the door was locked. He knocked, not too loudly. "Anyone in there?"

_Nobody's home._The whole village was eerily quiet. Water's Edge was by no means a hive of activity, but at the very least there were always people talking and dogs barking and carts trundling past. Now, however... _Everyone's gone. Left. Haven't seen any bodies yet, which is something._

The building next to it was a small shop, a sign hanging from a pole above the door. The shop was made of some kind of dark wood, its support beams slightly warped by the hot southern sun. The handle turned when he tried it and the door swung inwards, revealing the dark interior. He looked behind him, tried to give the boy a reassuring glance, and then waited for his eyes to adjust.

"Curse my sense of duty," he muttered quietly, scratching his nose with a gauntleted fist. "Just had to become an effing legionnaire, had to be on patrol this effing night. Just _had_ to check for survivors, which is a stupid idea if I ever heard one." He'd left his horse tethered to a tree just outside the village. Hopefully it would still be there when he got back; riding to Leyawiin would be safer than walking.

He began to make out some chairs, a bench, shelves. A rough idea of where the walls were. So he stepped inside.

"Anyone home?" he called out. His footsteps were loud in the conspicuous silence. Even the birds had gone, it seemed. He swore as he almost tripped over a box, reached out to the wall to steady himself.

"Everyone needs to evacuate." He felt silly saying it, but-

"Oh thank the gods you're here I thought you were one of _them_ but you're not thank you thank you!"

A fat, blubbering man fell into his arms, and he grunted in surprise. After a moment the man got back to his feet. _Sorry, but Iron armour's not too comfortable to lean against._

"You're safe now," he said. He felt silly saying that, too.

"Are you a – a legionnaire?" the man asked.

"Yes. Avarran Harwood, at your service. Now, we really _have_to get out of here."

"I'm Mauthis, I own this shop. We sell food."

_Really? Never would've guessed, just looking at you._The man's double chin wobbled in a most irritating way as he spoke.

"The daedra – is that what they are? – came about an hour ago. No warning, nothing. Everyone just ran. Some tried to fight them off, but when they saw how many there were... they ran too. Everyone. Except they couldn't run fast enough, they panicked, the whole mass of them. A hundred people. I could see what was happening, I could see they probably wouldn't make it, so I hid. In here. Most of the daedra passed us by, to chase the others. But some of them... some of them come past, looking for people. I crouch down, and wait for them to go. Maybe, in the daytime, I'll..." He trailed off.

Avarran took a deep breath. "I see." He shouted out to the boy. "You two, come in here." He heard footsteps, and soon enough the boy joined them, looking almost like a corpse in the darkness. The dog sat down on its front paws.

"Who're they?" Mauthis asked.

"More stragglers. Ran into them in the forest as I was coming here. The boy won't speak, but the dog seems to be his. Haven't seen his parents." He closed the door. "Something I've been thinking about. Why would the gate open in the middle of the forest? It would be far more effective to open it in the city; that worked pretty damn well in Kvatch, at least from what I saw."

"Off target? A random diversion? I don't know," Mauthis answered. "Wait. You were in _Kvatch?_"

"Yes, unfortunately. I got transferred down here to try and get away from it, and look what fucking happens." He glanced at the boy. "Pardon my Nordic. Is there anyone else you know of that's still hiding in the town?"

The merchant thought for a moment, gaining confidence by the second. "No. At least, I don't think so. They're all keeping quiet – like myself, I suppose."

Avarran looked over his sorry group of companions. _Man, boy, dog. Well, it'll have to do. Enough madness for one night._"Okay. We're leaving. I don't think there's much else we can do, except try and get to the city and hope-"

"SHH!" Mauthis raised a finger to his lips and dropped to the floor. Avarran did the same, tugging the boy down with him. "Keep your dog quiet," he murmured.

"They're coming," the merchant whispered. Sure enough, he began to hear some guttural shouts, the clanking of armour coming closer and closer. He half-expected to hear the regular march of booted feet, but the invaders weren't exactly disciplined.

He could almost sense the shadows walking down the street outside, scaled skin and demonic forms trooping past their hiding place. He held his breath. Some more talking in their strange language. But there weren't any shouts of alarm, and the sounds soon faded into the distance. He waited another minute to be sure, and stood up, peering out the window.

"They're gone. Do you have back door?"

"Yes."

"If we use that and follow that street to the south, we should find where my horse is tethered. If I remember correctly, there's a stable near there as well."

"That's right."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Avarran said. "Let's get out of this forsaken place." Mauthis led them through the shelves of goods to the back of his shop, and slowly opened the door. "Looks like the courtyard's empty."

There was a small stone courtyard between the grocery store and the building which faced the next street. The merchant walked through it quickly and into the building; Avarran got a quick glimpse of what seemed to be a blacksmith's, winding through a large stone room and some thin hallways. When they reached the front door the merchant unlocked it from the inside and had another careful peek.

"Street seems to be safe."

"Good. I'll take it from here." Avarran pushed to the front and started jogging southwards, trying not to make his Legion armour jingle too much, checking to see if the boy was still following. _And the dog – mustn't forget the dog. The fruits of my wonderful heroics._Past more empty houses, deserted shopfronts. Trees were planted along the sides, providing a nice amount of cover. At the end of the street stood the village's little chapel, a small but solid stone construction with a graveyard out the back. It had been one of the first places he'd checked on his rescue mission, but unlike Kvatch, it had been desolate and empty. _Not much faith in the Gods anymore, it seems_. It stood at the centre of a T-junction, another road leading either left or right past the front of the building. From memory, the stable was behind the chapel, so you had to go right, then right again. Almost there. Another hundred metres-

"We can cut through the church grounds. That'll be quicker," Mauthis said suddenly.

"_Through_ the graveyard? You're kidding, right?"(1) _A... symbolic place, if there ever was one. And not in a good way._

"Yes. It's easy, we can just climb the fence. Besides, the quicker we're out of here, the better."

"Fair enough." Then he noticed something. "Oh, damn. Everyone, find a shadow, quick as you can."

He tiptoed over to a large barrel on the side of the street and crouched down behind it. "See?" he whispered. "Guy in evil-looking armour, looking to the left at the end of the street." Mauthis nodded from a recessed doorway. The boy was lying in the shadows underneath a tree, hugging his dog.

"He doesn't seem to be moving," Avarran continued after a moment. "We'll have to take care of him, or take the long way around. I'm supporting option one, at the moment."

"Fine with me," Mauthis said, shivering slightly.

The legionnaire sighed. "I'll be back." He stood up, drew his sword and started creeping down the street, towards the chapel and its... guard. It definitely wasn't friendly, though he hadn't seen its kind before in Kvatch. It was roughly humanoid, quiet tall, wearing dark grey armour that was edged with red. A vicious axe with a curved blade in one hand. A helmet with a whole bunch of spikes coming out of it, which seemed impractical but looking damn intimidating.

He was twenty metres away now, and the thing still hadn't moved. It just stood there, looking to the left. He began circling around behind it, raising his sword. Through the neck, yes, that would be a good spot. Armour was usually weaker in the neck, and a good strong stab would usually puncture the metal.

Ten metres, five metres. The thing actually seemed to have a faint red glow about it, and smelled kind of... icky. Like salt and rust. Like blood, in fact.

Three metres, two metres. He held his breath, moved as quickly as he dared. It wasn't too much taller than him, so his stabbing idea would still work. Hopefully. Better be prepared, just in case._I'm surprised it didn't hear us, but I suppose that helmet must impair its hearing._

He stopped, standing perhaps a foot behind the creature. He couldn't believe he'd gotten this close, really, but-

SCRIK!

His steel longsword punched downwards deep into the daedra's body, finding a gap between the neckplates. It shuddered briefly, blood bubbling up through its armour, black in the starlight. After a moment it was limp and he withdrew his sword, letting it fall to the ground with a fearfully loud clang.

_Right. That went better than expected._He turned around, about to tell the others that it was safe-

_Oh. Well, there's some bodies._ Five of them, all strewn about the street, before the corpse of the demon. Three men, a woman, and a little kid. One of the men had his arm torn off, and to his concern he couldn't see where it had gone. The rest had been dealt with somewhat more cleanly. The woman had her throat slashed wide open, lying in a still-spreading pool of her own blood. The others had suffered from deep cuts to their chests; from claws or swords he couldn't say. The child had been the last to die, presumably – she had managed to crawl half-way down the road, leaving a thick trail of blood behind her.

He looked away and kicked the creature at his feet to make sure it was dead. "You must have found it fascinating, watching them," he told it.

No response.

"Okay, it's safe now," he called out. "But Mauthis, don't let the boy look to... my right. Your left."

"Why?"

"Guess."

The chapel had an iron fence around it, which he vaulted with ease. He crossed the small lawn before the entrance and peered down the side of the building. There was a small gap between the fence and the building itself, which they could probably get through.

"We go along the side – oh."

"I figured." He looked behind him. Mauthis had turned away from the scene, white-faced, one hand firmly placed over the boy's eyes.

Avarran began making his way through the little alleyway, armour scraping against the sides, boots getting caught in the long grass. He idly wondered whether Mauthis' bulk would be a problem. However, the merchant soon joined him.

"Avarran!" he whispered furiously. "There was an arm on the roof! An _arm_, I tell you!"

"Oh, so that's where it was. I was wondering about that," he replied distantly.

"What? Don't you-"

"Yes, I _do_ care, Mauthis, but dwelling on these things is of no use at this present moment." He gave himself a last push and squeezed through into the small plot of land behind the chapel. The graveyard, in fact. A collection of perhaps fifty tombstones, arranged in neat rows, of varying size and decoration. A few flowering bushes providing some life. The chapel's stone exterior loomed above his back, shielding the crescent moon from view, casting the graves into even deeper shadow.

However, there was the stable, a low wooden construction with a thatched roof and a two-storey inn out the front. Fifty metres from the graveyard's rear fence. And – thank Akatosh – there was his horse, still tethered to the young elm tree that stood by the road which ran in front of the inn. The road to Leyawiin. _Or to Bravil. That might be a good option._

Come to think of it, tethering your horse on a main road is just _asking_ for it to be stolen, especially when a whole village is fleeing past in panic. _However, I shall not stare a gift horse in the mouth. Hm. Never understood the saying, actually._(2)

"That your horse?" Mauthis asked.

"Yes. It seems we might make it after all."

He began meandering through the tombstones, Mauthis following closely, the boy looking around fearfully, the dog his usual doggy self. He came to the fence, helped push Mauthis and the boy over, lifted the dog, then climbed over himself. _How chivalrous_. And then...

He heard a *click* off to his right

_(I've heard that click before)_

whirled around and drew his sword

_(some sort of weapon, the cocking bolt)_

and came face to face with the innkeeper, who was standing there with a crossbow aimed squarely at his chest.

"Uhh... I surrender?" he said, in a bemused, I-can't-believe-this-is-happening kind of way.

"I'm taking your horse." The man was medium height, kind of stocky, with a short black beard. He looked terrified, which was always bad when said person was wielding a crossbow.

"Oh, f—ck you," Avarran answered. "Pardon my Nordic. I go and find three survivors – okay, four with you, dickhead – pardon my Nordic – and some _idiot_ decides to steal my horse!"

"You've got no chance, walking. Everyone found that out when they – they first came," the innkeeper said nervously. "Like I said, I'm taking your horse."

"Surely there's others in the stable?"

"All gone. I'm taking your horse."

"You've made that abundantly clear," Avarran answered wearily. He began walking towards the innkeeper. The dog barked. "Look, you're not going to use that thing, so just give it to me and we can all sort-"

_TWANnnnggg THWACK!_(3)

The bolt slammed into the legionnaire's thigh, piercing the armour. Mauthis gave a little squeal. Avarran couldn't decide who was more surprised, himself or the innkeeper. The dog was barking again, stupid animal.

"Okay, you got me and it damn well hurts. But crossbows take a while to reload, so why don't we all just get out of here before something-"

_SHRIEK!_

A blur of movement slammed into the innkeeper, bowling him to the ground, the crossbow flying off into the grass. He screamed as it began snacking on his face. A frilled, beaked, clawed very large and very vicious reptile.

"Effing Oblivion! Not clannfears again!" Avarran shouted in frustration. _I was happier with just having an angry man to deal with, actually._

"So that's what they're called."

The legionnaire turned in surprise. "You _spoke?_" he asked the boy.

_SHRIEK!_

He turned in surprise again, something he seemed to be doing a lot lately. There were three more of the things now, loping across the grass towards them with their peculiar swaying run, tails swishing menacingly.

"Mauthis, boy, get on the horse! You'll be able to outrun them!" He began jogging towards it, wincing in pain at every step. _There is_no way_I'm going to be able to walk to Leyawiin._

"What about you?" the merchant asked, dragging the boy along as quickly as he could.

"I'll improvise!"

And then a fourth clannfear leapt out of the darkness and sank its claws into his horse. It whinnied in pain, tugging at its tether, legs kicking at the beast.

_No, no, this can't be happening. We were-_

_But it is. Deal with it._

"Okay, on to Plan B. Into the stables."

"He said there weren't any horses left!" Mauthis said desperately.

"It'll be easier to hold them off when we're not out in the open. Just do it!"

Avarran began backing away. The merchant and the boy were running to the stable door, the dog was still barking at the daedra. _If there's nothing in there, we can hole up in the inn. Get on the roof, even._But the clannfears were approaching fast, circling threateningly. The fourth one had finished with his horse, which lay on the ground unmoving. A fifth one had appeared from the trees to his left.

They wouldn't get there in time. It was too far, the daedra were too fast, and as he watched, a sixth demon joined the pack that was hunting them down.

He gripped his sword in two hands, snapped off the bolt in his leg.

_A final burst of glory, hey? Well, it could be worse._

So Avarran Harwood decided a charge was too much effort and began walking forwards, heart pounding, cursing the way his helmet scratched his hair. His own leg was bleeding rather profusely, blood slicking the dewy grass.

The closest clannfear began sprinting towards him, faster and faster, its friends squawking their approval at the starry sky as they began to do the same. It leapt into the air when it was five metres away, claws outstretched.

He stepped aside and his sword _licked_ its chest, drawing a long red gash down its side, and it fell to the ground, snarling in fury. The next two were almost upon him now, and he noticed that one was trying to get round his back. _Let's dance, bitches._

But then, from the stable fifty metres behind him, carried to his ears through the clear night air, came the slightest hint of a horse's neigh, a faint echo of hoofbeats. Just perhaps.

* * *

Footnotes for Scene 1

1. Avarran's HORROR MOVIE CLICHE GRAVEYARD alert is going off.

2. A gift horse? I mean, what is that? Checking Wikipedia, checking Wikipedia...(4) So, it seems that giving horses as a gift was quite common in medieval times. As horses age their teeth begin to project further forward each year and so their age (and therefore their value) can be estimated by checking how prominent the teeth are. Essentially, when given a present, be grateful for your good fortune and don't go around examining it to assess its value.

3. I toyed with the idea of having the innkeeper kill him – i.e. they all escape the demons but are killed by one of their own, showing the depravity of human nature, etc, etc – but thought this was too... intellectual. Intellectually satisfying but not emotionally satisfying.(5) Suddenly ending with a TWANG!, a crossbow bolt and 'then the world went black' just didn't work so well. (6)

4. ZOMG! Microsoft Word automatically capitalises Wikipedia!

5. Rather like the ending of No Country for Old Men.

6. Another change: Mauthis and the boy were going to escape on the horse, but this made the ending seem too upbeat. It's now somewhat ambiguous... (I like to think, anyway)

* * *

SCENE #2: Extension to the Battle of Leyawiin

_Here we have a very small extension to the battle of Leyawiin in Chapter 31. It provides a bit more explanation of the course of the battle so far; closing the gate at Leyawiin feels a bit out of place in its current state, but I don't know how to fix that without writing a whole chapter about it (hmm… that's actually an idea). It also includes the death of the Blade Belisarius, but I'm a softie, so I modified it slightly. I figure that there'll be plenty of time to kill people off later…_

A dremora sorcerer with a long, flicking tongue raised its hand and threw a fireball at Belisarius' head. He blocked it with his shield on instinct, saw the centre of the metal plate become red-hot. It prepared to smite at him again, but was suddenly struck by a long, jagged bolt of lightning that came from somewhere to Belisarius' left. The beast shook as the electricity fried its brain, courtesy of a friendly mage.

At first light the Legion had engaged the daedra west of the river, after successfully clearing the ground before Leyawiin's walls. The daedra were a giant, unorganised, squirming mass, but there was just so MANY. More than at Kvatch, thousands of them spread over a five-kilometre front. It seemed unreal. For every one you killed, ten replaced it, and step by step through the long morning they had pushed the Imperial forces back towards the river bank. The Blades were fighting on the right, the city guard on the left, the Legion in the middle. The city guard had been in battle for the longest and were the first ones to tire, and the day would have been a lot worse if not for a near-suicidal cavalry charge. A hundred Legion riders smashed into the flank of the daedric army, their general at its head. The defenders cheered as that side of the demons crumpled and the infantry rushed back in, hacking and cutting. Since then it had been steady hand-to-hand slaughter.

Above the clash of battle and the screams of the dying Belisarius heard the sound of hoofbeats. There was no enemy soldier facing him, so he risked turning to look back towards the northern forest. Galloping along the shoreline and thundering across ground towards them came a troop of riders. They were led by a man waving two swords, mouth open in a battlecry as he rode. Behind him Belisarius could see the banner of the Bravil guard.

_Reinforcements,_ Belisarius thought. _Thank the gods._

He turned back to the battle just in time to glimpse the killing blow that took out his throat.

* * *

_There are some more – there was a bit of extra stuff on the Kvatch guards, such as their failed first attempt to close the gate, and a few random flashbacks for side characters that were kind of pointless (which may possibly turn up in future chapters). There's also a Martin flashback that WAS here, but is now going to be chucked into the next chapter._

_And if you've read this far, I congratulate you for your raw intestinal fortitude._


	35. Homecoming

_Author's note: You know what? My whole 'grand plan' with this story was to finish it in two years, do my own take on the Dark Brotherhood storyline (which was going to be pretty cool, alternating the point-of-view between Templar and the assassin), and then finish _that_ in time for a story set during Elder Scrolls V - also starring Templar Estantesec, continuity be damned._

_Unfortunately, I get sidetracked too easily, so this will have to suffice. It's a shorter chapter this time, but I'm hoping to get another one done this month. Hoping…_

_EDIT: Noticed that I created a few small continuity errors with earlier chapters. They'll be fixed when the rewrite cycle gets around to it._

Homecoming

_**Cloud Ruler Temple, North of Bruma, The Jerall Mountains, Hearthfire 12 3E433**_

Sky-blue skies, grass-green grass, snow-white snow. Cyrodiil's mountains soared all around them, poking up above the temple's thick walls. They walked quickly across the courtyard, breath clouding in the crisp air, passing into the shadow of the main building's blue ceramic roof. Baurus led the way, pushed open the doors to Cloud Ruler's great hall and strode inside. Torches danced and the hearth-fire crackled as wind gusted through the opening. Templar followed quickly, then waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom as the doors creaked shut.

The temple's pine-wood pillars and plastered stone walls were a welcome sight. The blades of dead Blades hung from the upper balcony like a fence of steel, while the roof curved to sharp edges high above, covered in wooden panelling. But the place was almost deserted; usually, several Blades could be found sitting around the fireplace at the far end, soaking in the heat, or chatting at the benches beneath the eaves. Now, the hall was empty, the stone floors silent, except for…

_An even more welcome sight: Our Emperor Martin Septim, the eighth of his name, sitting at a table with his nose in a book._ The priest was wearing his familiar black robes, shoulder-length hair falling past his ears; a stack of thick books was piled up beside him, next to a flickering candle.

"Martin!" Templar shouted, shattering the silence.

The Emperor looked up, bewildered. "Back already? I thought-"

"Whatever you thought, it probably didn't happen." Templar shrugged the pack off his shoulders and plonked himself down on the bench opposite the priest, then leaned forwards, head propped up with one hand. _Now, how do I put this-_

Something must have showed in his face, since Martin spoke first. "I can see you have bad news."

"Mmm. Lots of stuff happened, that's for sure. Not all of it good."

"Not much of it was good, you mean." The tone was... accusing.

"Mmm."

"You didn't recover the Amulet, did you."

"So it's gonna be like that, is it?" Templar shot back. "No small talk? No 'oh, did you have a nice trip, Templar?'"

"Well – sorry, I just thought-" The priest looked flustered.

Templar grinned. "I'm just teasing. Anyway, I'm sure you were happy to be free of me for a week. And to answer your question… no."

"You haven't got the Amulet?" Martin asked again, slightly desperately.

"No."

"That's not ideal."

"No."

"All our troubles would be over if we had that Amulet."

"Indeed. But-"

"We could traipse on down to the Imperial City, light the dragonfires, and all the daedra would be gone, except we can't. Because we don't have the Amulet. Well," he sighed, "I suppose it was a pretty desperate plan anyway." Martin's face was grim.

Templar realised that out of all of Martin's particular talents, looking grim was among his finest. "I do have some good news, though," Templar said after a moment. "I stole a book."

"Is it exciting? Running a bit low on cash?"

_Oh don't be sarcastic, that's my job._ But… Martin really _was_ disappointed. _It's awfully easy to pin all your hopes on one slim chance, and when that chance fails…_

"It's a great read," Templar answered. "Lots of battles, heartfelt romance. It's called the Mysterium Xarxes."

Martin stared at him for a moment. "…I see." His eyes flicked to the side, then back. "By the Nine, Templar, such a thing is dangerous even to handle. There is power within that book's pages, dark power. Did you take precautions when carrying it!"

Templar thought back to his desperate flight from the Dagon shrine. "Uhh… not really? Just held it in my hands. But I haven't turned evil yet, if that's the problem."

"Templar, the Xarxes is an important book, a magical artefact! From what I've read these past few days, greater men than you have been corrupted by its influence. In eras past, wars were fought over those pages!"

"Well – would you rather I'd just left it behind?" he said, slightly annoyed.

Martin was about to reply, but took a deep breath before continuing. "Forgive me. You were right to bring it. But you'd better give it to me, quickly. I know some ways to protect myself from its evil power." He wiped his eyes, which were red and bloodshot. "A life as a priest does have its uses."

Templar dug through his pack for the dark black book and gingerly handed it over. There was a pause as Martin stroked the cover, almost reverently.

"So, I should probably summarise," Templar began. "I – and Baurus – discovered the location of the Mythic Dawn base, up in the mountains above Cheydinhal, but we couldn't storm it in force since all the Blades had to run off to Leyawiin. To close an Oblivion Gate."

"Yes, they did."

"My plan was to sneak inside and steal the Amulet back, but shit happened and the whole thing became rather unpleasant. Mankar Camoran took the Amulet through a portal, but we managed to escape and steal the book, which brings us to our current situation. I suppose the most important question is, can we use the book to get the Amulet back?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Martin thought for a moment, forehead creased. "I suspect that the secret of how to open a portal to Camoran's Paradise lies within these pages. That is probably where he took the Amulet – to keep it safe while the invasion continues."

"…But?" _Nothing you say before the word 'but' actually counts._

"But I will need time. Tampering with dark secrets, even just reading them, can be very dangerous. I'll have to proceed carefully."

"How much time?"

"I don't know. A few days. A week. Two weeks."

_So now it's a waiting game. Well, I guess I could use a rest._

"Though in the meantime, you should speak to Jauffre," the priest continued. "He wanted to ask you about something. There's been reports of spies in Bruma, and I think our Grandmaster wants you to take care of it."

_But of course, there's no rest for the wicked._ Templar sighed. "Fine, I'll go talk to him." He pushed himself up, slung his pack back over one shoulder. "Good luck with the book, your highness."

Martin didn't even flinch at the title. _Must be getting used to it, for better or worse. _"Good luck to you too, Templar. It's good to have you back. Really." He smiled.

"It's good to be back," Templar answered. And it was - this was the closest thing he had to a home, after all. He was about to go and look for Jauffre when the grandmaster's voice echoed across the hall.

"Templar! Come."

The old Blade was standing in the entrance to the west wing of the temple, looking the same as ever – thinning white hair, a kind round face and piercing brown eyes. Unusually, he was wearing his full Blades armour, gold-embossed plate steel, with an Akaviri katana slung across his back.

"Walk with me," he said, turning on his heel and setting off down the corridor. Templar had to run to catch up, boots slapping on the wooden floor.

"Thank Talos you've returned safely," Jauffre began. "Do you have the Amulet?"

"No, Mankar Camoran escaped with it."

The grandmaster gave him a sharp glance. "No? Then please tell me you have some good news."

They rounded a corner, striding past paper screen doors to the left and right. One of the torches on the wall had gone out, and Jauffre stopped to relight it.

"Maybe. I have the Mysterium Xarxes." Templar took a moment to catch his breath.

"That's something. You've given it to Martin, I hope; he's hardly taken time to sleep since you left. Just been sitting in the great hall, reading."

"That's… good."

Around another corner, up some steps. The corridors were devoid of life, a silent diorama of lacquered wood and stone.

"Well, the poor boy has to learn all he can in the short time available to us. Good work tracking down the Mythic Dawn's secret shrine, by the way. We finally took the fight to the enemy. Payback, in part, for the massacre at Weynon Priory. And at Aleswell."

"Aleswell?" Templar asked.

"Oh, didn't you know? That's where the Emperor's sons were hiding when they were assassinated. A whole village burnt to the ground, by men in red robes. That's when we first realised the Dawn were a threat."

"What?"

"Well, before that almost no one knew about the Mythic Dawn, other than a few academics and conspiracy theorists. But afterwards..." The Grandmaster was lost in thought for a moment. "Reminds of another event, before that - a month earlier, perhaps. The village of Water's Edge was set upon by a vampire, murdered the lot of them and burned every house to the ground. Killed a dozen visiting priests, too. Terrible incident."

They came to the door to the grandmaster's chambers, and the old Blade ushered him inside. Jauffre pulled up a couple of chairs, and gestured for Templar to take a seat._ Back for five minutes, and I'm already in the thick of it._

The room was simple, spartan, devoid of any luxuries. There was a sleeping mat in one corner, next to a shelf filled with clothes and potion bottles. Across from the mat were a desk and a second, smaller table, empty except for a few quills, books and candles. The walls were bare, knots and cracks visible in the wood, while the floor was covered in a threadbare, monochrome carpet.

Jauffre made sure he was settled, then looked him right in the eyes. "Now. Tell me everything."

Templar talked for almost ten minutes straight. He spoke of the hunt for Camoran's Commentaries, their battle in the sewers, the coded messages. Then came their infiltration of the shrine, Baurus' appearance, the loss of the Amulet, the desperate pursuit - a lot had happened in the past seven days. _Strange. It all seems so far away, so long ago. So many memories, lifechanging experiences. Dusty pages. Beautiful blue eyes. Galloping a horse through the night. __Yet so few from… before. Distant echoes of blood, the taste of ash, the smell of fear. So far away, but just waiting to bubble to the surface._

"Thank you – truly – for your efforts," Jauffre said when he'd finished. "Just remember, if you hadn't tried, we wouldn't have the Amulet OR the Mysterium Xarxes. Now, at least we have a book."

"It's something." Templar felt a little better about the whole affair, now that he'd had the chance to talk about it._ I did my best. That's all that counts. And as Martin said, it was a desperate plan anyway. A desperate plan that was terribly exhausting, took me THIS close to death, and on the whole was a bit stupid. Par for the course, then. _

"It is indeed. I'm glad that Martin thinks it may be useful, though I hope he knows what he's doing with that evil book. I fear for what it could do to him if he's not careful."

"Oh, he'll be careful. Martin's very anal when it comes to these things. Likes to be in control." _Being Emperor should suit him. __Because, see, all the bad stuff in his life happens when he's not in control. Kvatch, the priesthood, the whole 'adoption' thing… How impressively psychological._ "Oh, I just remembered. Martin said you had some… 'concerns.'"

Jauffre blinked. "I am indeed concerned. The gate guards have reported seeing strangers on the road for the past several nights."

"…And?"

"These strangers have been loitering around the temple, and flee when challenged."

"So they're… spies, or something?"

"Yes. And I cannot leave Cloud Ruler undefended while my men search the whole mountainside – but these spies must still be eliminated."

Templar frowned, slightly confusedly. "Even if – even if these strangers ARE spies, they can't do much harm, surely? We're sitting in a fortress with the gates shut tight, and the Blades are a pretty quiet bunch when it comes to the Empire's secrets."

"Not much harm is still too much," Jauffre said. "I want you to take care of them." His eyes twinkled darkly.

"'Take care' of them?"

"Track down the spies and kill them. Find out what they know, and what they're planning."

_Our grandmaster isn't his usual genial, friendly-old-man self, I see. What's troubling him? _"O-kay... I can have a look around tomorrow, I guess?"

"Tonight," Jauffre said.

"What!" Gods_, is it THAT urgent? Can't the Hero of Kvatch have some time to put his feet up?_ Templar realised that he was getting angry, but kept going anyway. "I've walked across the country five godsdamn times in the past two weeks. I've nearly died on more occasions than I can count. Can't it _wait_?"

"No. Now that we have the Mysterium Xarxes, we must be more alert than ever."

"And despite having a huge building full of fighters, you can't spare ANYONE but me to check in on all your suspicions," Templar said sarcastically.

"Except, as you may have noticed, the temple isn't full of fighters. It's empty. Almost every Blade under my command is battling a horde of invading daedra down in Leyawiin, so don't talk to me about deserving a 'rest'." Jauffre's tone was firm, his eyes hard.

_So that's why he's being so gods-damned businesslike... but j__ust because he's PROBABLY right doesn't mean I'm not frustrated._ "You know what, Grandmaster? I've had enough of killing. People, animals, daedra, undead, I'm actually tired of it."

"We all-"

"But I'll track down your spies," Templar interrupted. "God knows it'll be more interesting than sitting on a wall staring at mountains all day." That last bit was petty, but he couldn't resist.

"Thank you." Jauffre nodded curtly. "Talk to Captain Steffan. He can tell you where he has seen them. Captain Burd in Bruma may also be able to help. I've asked the Countess to have the guard keep an eye out for suspicious activity."

"Fine."

"I'm counting on you to eliminate those spies, Templar," the Blade added. "We can't afford to let the Mythic Dawn operate out of Bruma with impunity."

Templar stood up, ready to leave. He was about to walk out the door when Jauffre had one last word.

"In the future, Templar, please do not forget that you are under my command. These are trying times."

_Sigh. How could I forget?_

* * *

Templar gazed critically at his assigned bed in the sleeping quarters – a small futon lying on the hard pine floor. "Better than rocks, I guess." _But not by much. Is there any real benefit to NOT having a proper bed?_

At the end of each mat was a wooden chest containing the Blade's possessions; arranged around the walls were shelves containing even more. Small lanterns were spaced around the room, and wooden lattices served as windows to the outside world. He dumped his pack, picked up a discarded Blades helm and turned it over in his hands.

Of course, by his 'pack', he meant a sack with a bedroll in it, since he'd managed to leave all his stuff on a hillside by the Lake Arrius caverns. _Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. I mean, I can easily buy new armour and new arrows and new lockpicks and new potions, but I _liked _my little collection of gear. Oh well, after I've sorted out this spy business, I'll have to go on a shopping trip. _

_Wait, but I don't have any gold. Damn... Never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually looking forward to finding a dungeon to loot._

Templar stood there for a moment in his dirty, slightly bloodstained tunic. Something was nagging at him. Something wet.

_Bath, that's right!_ _I could use a good bath right now._ Being clean was a nice feeling, and Cloud Ruler's hot springs were always beautifully warm. He was almost itching to scrub all the grime off his face...

* * *

...Warmth. Water. Contentment.

Templar was alone in the dark bathhouse – which made sense, since not many people had baths at one in the afternoon. Water sloshed against the edges of the circular tubs, bubbling up from pipes down below. He'd found some spare (and clean) clothes he could wear, which hung from a rack in the corner. Torchlight glinted from the slick stone floor, bounced from the water's surface.

_ Ahh, this is nice._

He stretched out, massaging aching muscles, washing away three days of accumulated dirt, shaving the black stubble that was starting to sprout from his cheeks, picking bits of food out from between his yellowed teeth. Shapes danced in the water, little eddies and creeping dampness that flowed around his body.

Templar leaned back, arms stretched around the edge of pool, and thought about nothing in particular.

* * *

Lunch was a simple affair, taken in the dining hall in the eastern wing. The remaining Blades at Cloud Ruler Temple leaned over bowls of steaming soup and hunks of bread, conversing quietly with each other. Lanterns swung from the rafters, pushed about by the cold breeze that flew under doors and through the shutters.

Templar sat at a bench three of his new comrades – Ferrum the armourer, Achille (_pale-skinned Breton, likes reading, always sits in that chair_ _in the corner_), and Captain Steffan himself.

"So," Templar began, after slurping up another spoon of chicken soup, "Captain. Could I ask you something?"

"Aye, Bladesman. What is it?"

"Jauffre told me there were spies hanging around the Temple."

"... There's two of them, always spotted down near the runestones at dusk," Steffan said after a moment's pause. Achille nodded in agreement.

"The runestones?"

"A circle of stones inscribed with glowing runes. Some say they have magical auras. They're a few hundred metres down the mountain, off the path a ways."

"I see," Templar replied.

"The spies haven't come any closer to the temple than that, as far as we know, but they're always... watching. It makes the Grandmaster nervous, and us as well."

"These spies aren't too wood-crafty," Achille added, "and we could catch 'em easily. But Grandmaster Jauffre has forbidden us to range too far from the walls." His voice was soft and smooth, matching his handsome-seeming face. "It seems you have been given the freedom to attack the enemy – something we're all craving around here, at the moment!"

There was silence as everyone chewed their food. Wooden forks and spoons clattered on the tables. Templar looked over to where Steffan was steadily devouring his meal. "Come to think of it, why aren't you in Leyawiin, Captain? Surely they could use your skills against the daedra."

"When it comes to a choice between the Emperor and the realm, the Emperor comes first. My duty – and the Blades' duty – is still here, protecting Martin," Steffan replied.

_The Emperor, the realm... I guess that makes sense, as one can't exist without the other. The Legion guards Cyrodiil, the Blades guard the Septims._

"Though our duty has been limited of late," Achille said bitterly. "The Septim bloodline is almost broken. We failed the Emperor. We were... were too arrogant, too complacent, and we payed the price."

"Almost makes you feel obsolete, doesn't it," Ferrum said.

The Captain took this as his cue to try and lift their spirits. "Not yet, we aren't. Those high windows in the great hall aren't as secure as they could be. What if an assassin, or a spy, managed to climb our walls? Who else is going to tear down the Mythic Dawn, when no one knows how deep their roots grow, if they have sympathisers... or worse? What if the daedra are only the beginning?"

"You paint a pretty picture, Captain," Ferrum snorted.

"Martin's death is the end of an Empire. 'Without the dragonfires, the realm will fall into darkness.' Surely we have it in ourselves to keep Tamriel alive."

There was an awkward pause. Templar glanced around, squinting as he tried to pick out a few book titles from the shelves in the far corner. He spooned the last bit of soup into his mouth. _My, these are a humourless bunch. Did all the fun Blades trot down to Leyawiin to die? I hope not._

"Well, I'd better be off," Templar said, standing up. "Time to track down those spies of yours."

"Good luck. We'll keep the Emperor safe here, don't you worry," Steffan said.

"May Talos guide you," Achille added.

_I'm sure he will._

"Templar."

He whirled around. "Did someone— Oh, hey Baurus."

The dark-skinned Blade was standing over by the stairs to the armoury. "I hear you're going hunting tonight."

"News travels quick," Templar replied. "Spy hunting, to be specific."

"I'm sure it will be a... valuable... experience. However, I thought you might want to take some Blades armour along with you; I don't have to tell you the Dawn can be dangerous."

_Armour? Could be useful._ "Sounds good," he said aloud.

"Follow me, then."

Baurus went down the staircase at the far end of the dining hall, Templar on his heels.

"Nothing too fancy!" Ferrum called out after them. "I've done enough forging this week to last a lifetime."

The armoury was still as Templar remembered – a low-ceilinged, gloomy sort of room with a cold cobblestone floor. Baurus led him over to an armour rack on the left-hand wall, ducking under the thick rafters. A single candle was perched upon the shield beside it, dribbling wax onto a collection of rusting swords.

The Blade handed him a heavy Blades cuirass, with a matching set of greaves. He put cuirass on first, pulling it over his head and cinching the leather straps tight. The armour had been constructed from segmented steel, and allowed surprising flexibility; he could bend back and forth easily, which was a nice improvement from his old steel set. _Though, sadly, it doesn't look _quite_ as nice. _The greaves were next: hardened ringmail, decorated with a blue cloth kilt and leather padding. There were also simple boots and gauntlets, and an open-faced helmet. Each bit of armour was embossed with gold around the edges, for a nice regal touch.

"Looks good on you," Baurus said, after he'd finished.

"Does it? I'm flattered. What about a sword?"

The redguard handed him an Akaviri katana and a round metal buckler. The katana had a long, sharp blade, slightly curved at the top, with a leather-wrapped hilt; the shield had been painted blue and gold, and its surface had been engraved with a pattern of entwining leaves.

Templar looked at it doubtfully. "Are you sure Ferrum won't be pissed that I took his best shield?"

"Just hide it. It's the only spare we've got at the moment, since the others took a lot of gear down south with them."

Templar sheathed the sword and strapped the shield to his back. _Almost feeling like a hero again._ He glanced up at Baurus' neutral face, dark eyes framed by close-cropped hair.

"Thank you for this," he said. "It feels better to have a sword in my hand." _Even though I wish it didn't. Whatever happened to the quiet life, growing old with a wife and children, sitting in a rocking chair to watch the sun go down? __Oh, that's right. I went to prison and then demons invaded. Oops._

"Blades armour opens all sorts of doors," Baurus replied. "And besides, I don't think I properly... thanked you for your help against the Dawn. Despite our differences, it all worked out in the end."

"Ha. It did, I suppose. We're all still alive, which is good." _And Camoran still has the Amulet, so I guess it worked out for the Dawn, too._

"Actually," the Blade continued, "Now that we have a free moment..."

"Yes?"

"...You might be able to use some tricks I've picked up from the Blades over the years. I've seen you fight, and while you're not bad-"

"Be honest, I'm terrible."

"-you're still... awkward. Easy to read. So far, you've made up for that with what I can only assume is the gods' favour, but that won't cut it for much longer."

_True enough. _"And it'd be a rotten shame if I died."

"It would," Baurus replied. Templar couldn't help but notice that his eyes were twinkling with some sort of private irony.

* * *

They trained in the candlelight, swords flashing back and forth. Templar dodged a high strike, learnt to keep his feet apart for balance. He stabbed forwards, realised how deadly a quick thrust could be. Baurus swung at his body; he blocked to the side, feinted left and went low instead, saw the power of misleading an enemy. Steel rang out, blow after blow, shadows dancing. _See, when they swing at your sidearm, you twist your wrist like this... exactly! Let me show you another one. _Ducking, leaning forwards, sword hacking, shield across his chest. Templar thought that Baurus hit him _slightly_ too hard a few times, but otherwise...

The ring of metal. _Ring. Ring. RIINNNGGGG._

_ A smith's hammer, rising and falling with steady rhythm, smacking the anvil with a red-hot bite. The river, lapping against a rocky shore. The smith looks up, meets a boy's eyes._

In a trance, now, a trance of swords. Up from this dark chamber, through corridors, a hallway, a door, coming to the courtyard of Cloud Ruler Temple, blue sky all around. Blue, clear blue, white clouds filling his mind. Grass underfoot, bordered by stone. Snow – no, not snow. Water.

Home.

_A man, leaning over him, ruffling his hair and tucking in the sheets. Hitting him, sometimes, but only when he deserved it. Chasing him around the yard and through the street, dodging passers-by, pretending to be knights and evil princes. The man had gone away, after too many bad words and empty bottles._

_ Father._

_ Mother, too, looming in his eyes. A face he couldn't quite remember, but he was sure she loved him. And his... sister?_

_ Climbing a tree all the way to the top, falling down, incredible pain, skipping school with a splinted arm and a wide, brave smile._

Memory. A single, precious memory.

His eyes suddenly filled with tears.

_Another home, this one newer. But he was older. _

_ Down by the water's edge, grass twisting in the wind. A simple wooden house, filled with smells and sweetness. A bed to sleep in, with someone he loved. There was a fireplace, too, and a desk in the corner where he liked to sit and read, turning page after page as night wore on._

_ A woman, silken black hair, a kind, quiet face, tall and beautiful. A ring on her finger._

_ There was a ring on his finger, too. And in the distance, a child's laughter, uncaring and free._

Something Jauffre had said, earlier, in passing. A massacre at Aleswell. A town butchered, burnt to the ground. Ah, yes, now he remembered. There had also been slaughter at Water's Edge. A thought entered Templar's mind, filled with rock-hard conviction.

_He'd been there, at Water's Edge. He was certain of it._

_Somewhere else, there were a monster's fangs. Another life lost. Events set in motion. But Water's Edge... That was where the fire was, the blood, the screams. Those feelings he couldn't control, anger, the taste of fear and frightened faces. The darkness. All those dreams._

_It had begun with a monster's fangs, all those dreams, an empty heart..._

...and ended in Water's Edge.


	36. Spies

_Author's Note: Oh hey, here's another chapter. Enjoy. (Or not. But I hope you do enjoy it). It features the most redundant story choice ever, a confusing structural experiment, some conversation-persuasion, a Game of Thrones quote, two beggars, a housefire, and twenty-three mentions of snow._

Spies

_**The Hestra Runestones (North of Bruma), the Jerall Mountains, Hearthfire 12 3E433**_

She stepped forwards, and swung the axe at his head.

* * *

_Water's Edge, Water's Edge. A distant past, triggered and brought to life by the sound of a smith's hammer, the feeling of clear skies. It's all there, just waiting… No, don't think about it. There'll be time enough for that over the coming days. _

_But an actual, clear memory. I had parents. I was married. I had a house. I had a _life.

_ Then everything burned._

He walked down the stairs, out the gate, into the wide open world, lost in thought. Baurus had been a little bewildered when Templar had told him about the whole memories thing, but seemed… understanding.

But the spies; Jauffre had told him to look for the spies that were hanging around Cloud Ruler Temple, and that was what mattered, for the moment. He trudged around a curve, the mountains rising on one side and falling on the other.

* * *

He raised his sword to block, tensing his muscles, heart thumping fast.

* * *

The sun shone brightly as Templar skidded down the steep temple path, winding around snow-encrusted boulders and lopsided pines. An eagle soared through the open sky, boosting off the thermals, scanning the ground below for its dinner. _Water's Edge, a ring, a book, the fire. Oh, for Akatosh's sake. _If anything, that clearer flash was more frustrating than the dreams - it meant that there was some unidentifiable truth in his past, some hope, even, so close that could feel it but still as far away as ever.

_Now, it was about here, wasn't it? Yes. _Templar peered down the hillside to his left; saw the tips of the runestones that Steffan had spoken of poking up from a small glade of trees.

* * *

_CLANNGGG! _One foot dragged backwards through the snow, crunching on the white powder. The axe-blade flashed in the moonlight as he ducked away.

* * *

He clambered down the slope, grabbing onto rocks and branches as snowdrifts collapsed beneath his feet. He was in the forest now, thick black tree trunks rising all around. He dropped down a sheer rock face, landing with bent knees, then leapt over a ditch. His breath steamed, his armour clanked. The sun was dipping low towards the western horizon, and dusk would come soon. Hopefully the spies, too – he didn't fancy sitting around in the snow for a couple of hours, just waiting for the Dawn to show up.

"Look at me," he said to himself, "back in the metaphorical saddle." _Barely time to catch my breath, and off we go again, into the heart of darkness. _"I mean, couldn't Baurus do it? He seems to be much more competent than me at this secret stuff." Templar grunted as he vaulted over a frozen stream, the surface criss-crossed with cracks.

* * *

He backed off, trying to figure out where the second agent was. That one didn't have a sword, but she _did_ have a knife, and the most awful habit of rushing forwards when you least expected it.

* * *

More climbing, more falling, more trudging through the snow.

Suddenly, Templar emerged into the clearing, the runestones spread out before him. The largest was in the middle, a rough granite obelisk engraved with jagged, runic patterns, painted a bright blue. Surrounding it were five smaller standing stones, the corners of a rocky pentagon, and an inner circle of assorted rocks and boulders. The runestones stood upon a raised hummock of land, surrounded by trees; behind Templar was the steep hillside, while before him, barely visible through the woodland, was a flat, clear plain and the distant walls of Bruma.

He settled down to wait, wedged in between two fallen tree trunks. His hiding spot made him invisible from almost every angle, and hopefully the Mythic Dawn spies wouldn't be looking around too carefully.

_Spying on spies. What fun._

_And now we wait._

* * *

There she was, coming around from the other side of the runestones. The one with the axe was still coming after him too, and he blocked another slash with the hilt of his sword, felt the impact run up his arm, pushed back at her with his shield, saw her stumble.

* * *

The sun crept lower, touching the mountaintops. The shadows grew longer and deeper. His feet crunched on dead grass as he stretched his cold muscles. Stalks of nightshade sprouted from the ground between his knees. _Waiting, waiting._ The forest was silent, the trees and snow soaking up any sound before it had the chance to be heard. He was beginning to regret coming down so early, and choosing such a damnably cramped hiding place.

Templar checked his weapons, plucked the string of the bow that lay beside him (another gift from the Blades' armoury). It was made of ebony, with a golden handle, and felt a great deal more flexible and powerful than his old steel one.

"F—k it's cold," he muttered, rubbing his numb fingers. He coughed, and winced as a breeze howled through the branches high above.

* * *

He took advantage of the lapse and swung at her head, but she pushed his sword aside and leant inwards, raked the axe across the front of his helmet. Sharp steel whipped past, millimetres from his eyes.

* * *

The first of Tamriel's moons was rising, a big white orb filling the sky above. The night was clear, and Templar could make out every crater and canyon that marred its dusty surface. He looked back down, shivering inside his armour, teeth clattering. _Another half-hour of this, and then I'm going home. Jauffre can come and sit out here himself from now on._

And then, just as the runestones were beginning to glow…

The crunch of footsteps.

Templar stayed very still, and tried to look for the source of the sound. _There_: a lone figure, making its way up the track towards the runestones. It came closer and closer, until perhaps a minute later, the figure stopped in the midst of the circle of stones. It leant onto the central obelisk with one arm and stood there, waiting. From his vantage point, Templar could see that figure was female; she had brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and was wearing a thick furred jacket.

_Well, finally. I was wondering when you'd show up._

* * *

He blocked another two swings in quick succession, steel clanging, then threw a lightningbolt at point-blank range. It licked at his attacker's armour and she recoiled in pain. Then the one with the knife was there, darting forth-

* * *

Soon enough, there was the sound of more footsteps. Another figure, approaching from the other direction, coming down the hillside that Templar had climbed an hour before. He hoped that they wouldn't notice his footprints.

This newcomer was also a woman, with cropped blonde hair and wearing only a thin tunic and trousers. She picked her way across the runestones and stopped before the other spy.

_Okay, Templar, wake up. Show's about to start!_

They began to speak in soft voices – definitely female – and Templar had to strain to hear them. "Praise Lord Dagon."

"May we forever serve him. Is Chorrol ready?"

"It is, sister. I received a letter which confirmed it. And this letter, it also spoke of…"

_Something about the Blades. Cloud Ruler? The Chosen? Dammit, I need to be closer._

* * *

He twisted away and stabbed his sword forwards, slicing into her shoulder. Her blood splashed out across the snow, red on white – not fatal, but the blood was dripping, dripping, dripping.

* * *

A wolf howled, a long way away. The two agents hadn't noticed him watching them, and were still exchanging cryptic phrases in the shadow of the runestones. He'd managed to get a little closer without being noticed, so their voices were much clearer.

"And what of our agent within? Does he still… believe?"

"Yes. He knows why he must perform his tasks. But the act grows long, and we need to move soon."

"Good. The Master is moving the deployment forth, after the attack on our most sacred shrine. Not more than a month from now, I heard. So…"

They trailed off again, and Jauffre's words echoed through Templar's mind. _'I'm counting on you to eliminate those spies, Templar. We can't let the Mythic Dawn operate out of Bruma with impunity.'_

He was tempted to sit and listen, to see what he could learn about the Dawn's plans. But he was also tempted to attack, to surprise them and – _sigh_ – kill them before they could get away.

_A choice, dear reader:_

_If you want to stay awhile, and listen - __read block one._

_ If you think it's time for killing, read block two._

* * *

1

Templar decided to stay put, for at least a few moments longer. _After all, one of the best things we can do right now is to try and learn what the Dawn (and the daedra) are actually planning._

"…So the cleansing is finally at hand. In part, due to our work."

"Yes, in part. A warm sensation, isn't it?"

The spies laughed softly. "And the other cities," the one in the jacket said. "I went to Leyawiin, as you know, and that was almost a success. What of your work, in Skingrad?"

"It was going well, when I left. Our brothers can open the gates when they please."

"Excellent. But back to the bastard heir, sitting on his mountaintop..."

_So they know about Martin. Damn._

"Yes?"

"...I need to know when the strike is happening."

There was a pause before the answer came. "Tonight's the night. I have made the necessary preparations."

"Already? So soon?"

"The Master thought it best to do it sooner rather than later. Besides, we'll always have more chances to try again."

_Try what? What's happening tonight? Oh, this sounds bad._

"And if it succeeds, then Lord Dagon will be almost unstoppable. Will the 'actor' be involved?"

"No; he must stay hidden for a while longer yet."

And then Templar sneezed – an awful, wet sneeze. He didn't know how; it just escaped before he even realised his nose was starting to itch.

"_AT-CHOO!"_

The two agents stopped talking. The one that had arrived first turned towards him, trying to determine where the sound had come from.

She began walking towards his hiding spot. He ducked down…

…but the movement must have given him away, a shadow in the twilight.

"Come out where I can see you, whoever you are!" she called out, still coming closer. The other one had drawn a knife from her belt, but stayed by the runestone.

_Oh, bloody hell. I suppose I could use some exercise. _Templar stood up, and drew his sword. "Come to keep me warm, ladies?" he said, almost choking when he realised how stupid that sounded.

"No. We've come to keep you dead!" the knife wielder yelled. Her eyes flashed angrily.

Templar clambered over the fallen tree trunk he'd been crouching behind, joints cracking. "That's actually worse than what I said. It doesn't even make sense!" he replied. _Come on, stretch, get those muscles working. _

"Enough talk. You'll die for what you've heard here," the first spy said. She raised a hand, and was enveloped in a swirl of red light. Air _whoomphed_, and suddenly she was wearing a set of Mythic Dawn armour, a red hood draped about her helmet, a vicious-looking axe in her hand.

Then the other one was running at him, knife raised. She thumped past the axe-woman, and hadn't bothered summoning armour. _Or maybe she doesn't know how. Either way, when it's sword vs. knife, sword wins._

Proving him wrong, suddenly she was _right there, _darting sideways impossibly fast and stabbing at his stomach. Templar didn't have time to react. Luckily, the blade was turned away by his new cuirass, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. He tried to slash at his attacker but she was too quick and jumped out of reach.

"Hey!" the other woman yelled. Templar whipped around to look at her, but she was still ten metres distant. _Then what?-_

The knife scampered in again, a glint out of the corner of his eye. He ducked on instinct and it only managed to slice across his left elbow, a shallow scratch. He shouted in surprise, scanned the forest for her but she'd disappeared. For the moment. The first spy was still coming, a formidable figure with her axe and armour. In fact, she was very, very close. Close enough to-

_Go to the main story._

* * *

2

"So the cleansing is finally at hand. In part, due to our work."

"Yes, in part. But there is _one_ thing that I was wondering about, sister. When is the 'strike' happening?"

"…Tonight's the night. I have made the necessary preparations."

"Already? So soon?"

_What's happening tonight, I wonder? _

_Well, I guess it'll have to be postponed. _The two spies kept talking as Templar grasped the wood of his bow. He pulled two arrows from his quiver and stuck them in the dirt beside him, then picked out a third and hooked it to the string. _If I can take one out, that at least evens the odds._

_ Hm, what a weird expression. If you're talking about even and odd numbers, it makes absolutely no sense._

_ ANYWAY. _He raised the bow and pulled back with his right arm, sighting the tip of the arrow at one of the agents' necks. They were still oblivious to the man about to attack from the shadows.

_Breathe in, breathe out. Aim… and fire._

Templar loosed the arrow, a black bolt flying through the night – that sped past his target and skidded into the snowy ground thirty metres distant.

Both of the spies turned towards the fallen arrow. "Was that?-"

Templar quick fired another, the bowstring twanging in his cold, clumsy fingers. This arrow missed as well, pinging off the runestone about a meter above the nearest agent's head. _Argh, that was terrible._

By now, both of the Mythic Dawn had figured out where the arrows are coming from. They turned towards his hiding spot; one of them raised a hand and pointed at his half-crouched form. "There! Behind the trunk!"

_Uh-oh. This seems to have gone… badly. Get up, Templar, draw your sword-_

The spy that had arrived first murmured an incantation. She knelt down and was enveloped in red smoke and shimmering air. When it faded she was wearing a full set of Mythic Dawn armour – a snarling mask, a crimson hood, moulded metal plate mail – and held a vicious-looking axe in one hand.

_. _Templar drew his weapon, hurriedly picked up his shield from where it lay in the snow. He stepped forwards, bladed held at the ready. The other spy was scampering towards him, a curved dagger held in one hand. She hadn't bothered summoning armour, and still wore only a simple tunic and leggings. _Perhaps she doesn't know how. Either way, when it's sword vs. knife, sword wins. _Templar prepared to strike, swinging back-

Then suddenly she was _right there,_ darted sideways impossibly fast and stabbed hard at his stomach. Templar didn't have time to react. Luckily, the blade was turned away by his new cuirass, but it still felt like a punch to the gut, metal screeching on metal. He tried to slash at his attacker but she was too quick and jumped out of reach.

"Hey!" the other woman yelled. Templar whipped around to look at her, but she was still ten metres distant. _Then what?-_

The knife scuttled in again, a glint out of the corner of his eye. He ducked on instinct and it only managed to slice across his left elbow, a shallow scratch. He shouted in surprise, scanned the forest for her but she'd disappeared. For the moment. The first spy was still coming, a formidable figure with her axe and armour. In fact, she was very, very close. Close enough to-

_Go to the main story._

* * *

Main Story

She stepped forwards, and swung the axe at his head. He raised his sword to block, tensing his muscles, heart thumping fast. _CLANNGGG! _One foot dragged backwards through the snow, crunching on the white powder. The axe-blade flashed in the moonlight as he ducked away. Another blow, this one so hard that the parry almost knocked him to the ground. Templar recovered quickly and backed off, trying to figure out where the second agent was.

Ah, there she was, coming around from the other side of the runestones. The one with the axe was still coming after him too, and he blocked another slash with the hilt of his sword, felt the impact run up his arm, pushed back at her with his shield, saw her stumble. He took advantage of the lapse and swung at her head, but she pushed his sword aside and leant inwards, raked the axe across the front of his helmet. Sharp steel whipped past millimetres from his eyes. He blocked another two swings in quick succession, steel clanging, ducked a third, then threw a lightningbolt at point-blank range. It licked at his attacker's armour and she recoiled in pain. Then the one with the knife was there, darting forth-

He twisted away and stabbed his sword forwards, slicing into her shoulder. Her blood splashed out across the snow, red on white. Not fatal, but the blood was dripping, dripping, dripping.

A pause. The knife wielder watched him warily, weapon held at the ready. The armoured one did the same, watching, waiting. Templar twitched, eyes flicking from side to side, then threw another bolt of lightning; it went wide and missed, crackling into one of the runestones. Blue light flared from the rock, briefly blinding him, casting the trees and hills and spies into harsh shadows.

The light faded. Then they rushed at him together, feet kicking up snow, a battlecry echoing from the trees, an axe flashing at his head. _Again._ He made a lucky dodge and the axe bit into a nearby tree trunk. Templar counterattacked, aiming for the neck, but the other one was too close and he had to stop and kick her back, both of them grunting with exertion. The first agent pulled her axe out of the trunk, passed it from hand to hand.

An absurd image suddenly filled Templar's mind. _She swings with the axe; I lean back gracefully and turn my attention to her partner, footprints marking out the last minutes of our lives. A deadly dance in the cold hard snow with two women that I don't know. _It seemed that they were all having a quick rest, the spies hanging back to catch their breath. Templar too was breathing heavily, and he had to blink some sweat from his eyes.

She swung the axe. He blocked it, his blade against her metal hilt. She pushed to the side and downwards. Metal scraped. He hit back, slashing low. Dodged a wild swing, tried to stab forwards but something got in the way. A blow up high, parried with outstretched arms. Templar tried to focus on nothing but the blade. It was frustrating, fighting someone with an axe, frustrating that he just couldn't _kill_ her-

And then, just like that, he threw a fireball at her head.

It hit, hard. Orange light streamed from his hands, impossibly bright in the moonlit forest, hungry flames licking at the air, her helmet, her face.

She screamed an awful scream. It echoed through the night, for endless seconds. Templar watched her burn, half-horrified, saw her dive into the snow – but magical fire wasn't that easy to get rid of. Her mask was melting, white-hot, clutched at by desperate hands_. _Scorching, boiling, a deep red glow.

The screams stopped. There was the hiss of steam and cooling metal.

Templar stood there in the forest and breathed out, hard. He glanced around for the other agent but couldn't see her; _probably ran off_, he thought distantly. _I suppose I'll have to catch her. _He put away his sword, hearing the reassuring _snick_ as it slid into its sheath, then he picked up his bow from where it had fallen.

Finally, Templar looked down at the corpse by his feet.

_It all went wrong. I could have taken both of them out easily enough, but nothing worked (I suppose I was due for some bad luck). __A quick stroll down from the temple, trekking through a forest, sitting in the snow trying to catch some bloody spies on the orders of bloody Jauffre._

_Once this is done, I can sit around at Cloud Ruler all I want. Help Martin decipher a book, think about stupid Water's Edge. But first…_

_Then again, I thought the same thing after Baurus and I escaped from the Mythic Dawn shrine. If there's one thing that I've learned these past few weeks, it's that there's always more work for heroes._

"Okay Templar, think," he said to himself, his voice sounding strangely alone. "Don't feel sorry about it. She – _and _her friend – wanted to see all of Tamriel devoured by the planes of Oblivion, which is pretty gods-damned awful."

_What was it they were saying, just before I attacked… something a strike? 'Tonight's the night?' _

"So, they were talking about tonight. What could be happening tonight? Something bad, obviously, but they weren't exactly clear. If the Mythic Dawn were spying on Cloud Ruler, then that means-"

Templar remembered talking with the Blades earlier in the day, how Steffan had said that protecting Martin was the most important thing in the world, and had the most awful thought. _Are they trying to kill Martin? I mean, obviously the Mythic Dawn are in general, but are they trying to do it tonight? Are they going to open another gate? Burn down the city? Or maybe something less destructive?_

_There's not enough information. Something's happening tonight, it's probably important, but you don't know what it is. How do you find out?_

"Now, you have to find the other spy before she runs away forever. Whatever they were talking about sounded bad, so you need to find her and question her. The Dawn must have a base in Bruma, which you need to find. And how do we do that?..." Templar looked up at the thousand bark-skinned guardians towering all around, then back down at the snow. "...We identify the body. Go to the city guards, identify the body, and figure out where her house is. We search the house, and go from there. And go… from… there…"

Templar knelt down next to the agent's corpse. It was lying face-down in the snow, watched by no one but whatever wintry animals happened to be passing by. Her weapons and armour had disappeared when she died, evaporating into the magical ether. Templar grasped her shoulders, and turned her over with a shove.

"Oh," he said.

The woman's face was a mess of melted steel and charred bone, empty eye sockets and bared teeth, wrinkled flesh covered in a sickening sheen of-

Templar looked away. The smell of burnt hair wafted through his nostrils.

_So much for that plan. I'd better check the non-melted parts of her, see if she was carrying any documents with her._

There wasn't anything of note under the woman's jacket, but there _was_ a small pouch hanging from her belt. Templar opened it, and saw that it was full of coins – hundreds of gold Septims all slipping and sliding together as he cupped them in his hands.

_Now tell me gods, up high above… is stealing from the dead okay if it's for the greater good? _

_ No answer? I'll take that as a yes._

And also in the bag, poking out from between Templar's newfound riches, was a key. A plain, iron key. The spy's house key, probably, since she was carrying it with her. Templar was beginning to regret melting her face off even more. "What I'd give right now for a nice label stuck to the end, a simple little label with a simple little name on it… but of course, it couldn't be that easy."

Templar stood, and clipped the pouch to his own belt, felt the reassuring weight of it. He glanced through the trees to the east, saw torches glowing upon Bruma's distant walls.

_Somewhere in that city, in some house, on some door, or on some chest, this key fits into a lock. And I'm going to find it._

* * *

_The Mythic Dawn were going to make something happen in a few hours' time, and I'm going to find out what it gods-damned is._

Templar walked through Bruma's northern gates – first the soaring stone arch, then a courtyard watched over by four squat towers, and finally through the thick double doors that led into the city proper. The walls were heavily manned by the city guard, who held their torches high as they patrolled atop the battlements.

"Thanks for coming with me, by the way," Templar said.

"No problem. I'm as interested in these spies as you are," Baurus replied, looking straight ahead.

"Yeah… I wouldn't have bothered you, except the Mythic Dawn were definitely planning something. I didn't hear much, but they definitely said 'tonight's the night.' It sounded bad."

"I'm sure it did." The Blade turned to him. "It would have been a lot easier if you'd kept that agent alive, though. Not that I'm complaining, but – we _could_ have interrogated her."

"I guess so… it was a bit of a kill-or-be-killed situation, though," Templar said slowly.

After leaving the runestones he'd run back up to Cloud Ruler, thinking that the investigation would be easier if: A, he had someone to help him, and B; if that someone knew their way around Bruma. He'd also mentioned the spies' words to Jauffre, who had made sure that everyone was extra alert.

_ 'This is disturbing news, Templar,' the Grandmaster had said. 'The kind of news that I don't want to believe. For the Dawn to act so soon after we-" He shook his head. 'Never mind. We must take every precaution; every Blade that remains in the temple will have the watch tonight. Track down the remaining spy, as fast as you can. Tell the Bruma guard to be careful, too. We MUST find out what they're planning.'_

"Anyway, I thought I might visit the city guard first," Templar continued, "to check if they've seen any suspicious activity over the past few days."

"That's a good idea. But remember that Captain Burd tends to be more cooperative if we're… open with our information. We should tell him about your little fight in the woods." Baurus said.

"I guess so."

Bruma's northern entrance opened up onto a wide stone plaza that was part of the city's upper levels. Before them was a jumble of sloping rooftops, smoking chimneys and firelit windows, loomed over by the big fat square of darkness that was Castle Bruma. The needle-like spires of the chapel speared up into the sky, towering over even the tallest trees that sprouted from amidst the twisty, snowy streets.

The pair began making their way towards the castle to the east, Templar following Baurus' lead. _He knows this place better than I do, after all._

"Did you have plans for tonight? I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Templar asked.

"Not really. Nothing as exciting as this, anyway." Baurus smiled. "It's a bit late to be asking about that now, isn't it?"

"I guess so."

"Is that your answer for everything?"

"I guess-"

From here, Templar could see the castle more clearly; it was almost like three castles stacked on top of one another, if you looked at it from the distance. The bottom level was shaped like a big stone rectangle, a turret on each corner, dotted with structural arches and narrow windows. The second level was another rectangle, this one a little smaller, more turrets on the corners, more windows, while the third was an even smaller version of that. From the centre of the third level, an immense square tower reached up to the clouds.

Baurus kept going, past shops and inns and houses. The keep was accessible from a raised walkway that followed the curve of the city walls; it was lined with merchants' stalls selling all manner of goods, from food and furniture to magical scrolls. People murmured and shouted and warmed their hands over wooden pyres, huddling beneath cloth pavilions.

"Isn't it a bit cold to be out shopping?" Templar said as they brushed past.

"If you've lived in Bruma all your life, this barely rates as 'brisk.' It's not winter for a few months yet."

"_Fish here! Pet fish, fish to eat, all the way from Bravil!" _one man yelled, standing by a table absolutely _covered _in fishbowls. Distorted eyes gaped out from behind the glass, attached to yellow-scaled puffers, long-tailed guppies, the occasional mudcrab, and-

"Oh look, a baby slaughterfish." Templar pointed one of the bowls. "Want one?"

"I'd prefer to keep all of my fingers, so 'no.'"

The slaughterfish stared as they walked past, clacking its teeth.

They turned right, trudging up a wide set of stairs lined by torches. The crowds thinned out the closer they came to the castle gates, a humungous stone archway hung with yellow-black banners. A pair of sentries stood on either side of the arch, holding long spears.

"We're here to see Captain Burd," Baurus said. "Blades business."

The guards stepped aside. "Go on through. He should be in the barracks."

* * *

The barracks was a low-ceilinged, square chamber, with a cold stone floor and plaster peeling from the walls. The roof was stone too, supported by a latticework of beams and pillars. Two candelabras hung from the ceiling, illuminating the beds and tables and fraying carpets strewn about the room. In one corner was a makeshift kitchen, bordered by a long serving bench and a barrel of wine.

There were perhaps a dozen guardsmen in the room – some of them sleeping, some of them eating, some just talking. One was taking swings at a training dummy suspended from a beam, his sword sounding out a rhythmic _thwack – thwack – thwack. _Captain Burd had recognised Baurus on sight, and led them over to a quieter corner, after a quick greeting. Templar decided to let his fellow Blade do the talking.

"So," the Captain said. "What did you want to talk about?"

"We're tracking down a couple of Mythic Dawn agents that have been seen around Bruma, but we're not sure where they're operating from," Baurus explained. "We were wondering if you'd seen any unusual activity over the past week or so?"

The Captain thought for a moment. He had stormy eyes that matched his grey-black hair; a greatsword was slung across his back, and a hawk was embroidered upon the breast of his yellow quilted cuirass. "Not particularly – just the usual number of murders and fights and robberies. Things have been pretty quiet, really, ever since the Oblivion Crisis started. And people have been coming and going a lot, too, visiting family, getting out of the country for a while, that sort of thing."

"Any strangers hanging around places they shouldn't be?"

"Again, it's hard to say. I can tell my men to keep an eye out, but… I'm afraid I can't be much help. There's lots of strangers around these days. But I take it that the Blades _have _seen a few odd things lately."

"You could say that. We, uh, killed a Mythic Dawn spy over near the Hestra Runestones." Baurus glanced over at Templar.

"I see." The Captain paused. "Well, I guess I can't fault you for that. We can try and identify the body for you, if you'd like."

"That would've been useful, but unfortunately her face is – uh – melted."

"Melted?"

"Melted. Unrecognisable."

"I see," the Captain said again. "I won't ask."

"Perhaps that's for the best. The problem is – we think they're planning to try something tonight, but we're not entirely sure _what_. Finding that out is obviously very important," Baurus said.

"You've got no ideas?"

"Not really. They could attack Cloud Ruler, or the castle, or just stick to the shadows. That's the trouble with the Dawn – they're very good at hiding."

"They are indeed," the Captain agreed. "Of course, I'll pass the word onto my men. If you need to search any houses or detain anyone, they won't interfere."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Again, sorry I can't be more help." Burd did look honestly apologetic. "But I trust that you'll handle things… appropriately. Keep the bodies to a minimum."

"We'll try."

* * *

"That wasn't much help, was it," Templar said.

"No."

"So what do we do now?"

They were standing in one of the streets on Bruma's southern side – Baurus had led them there after leaving the castle. This part of town was less reputable, and the houses were much more crooked and dilapidated. _A far cry from all those nice pointed rooves and pine-wood cabins you usually imagine. _Some of the two-storey buildings leaned inwards alarmingly from opposite sides of the street, almost forming a tunnel overhead. Tiny lanterns swung from poles and doorways, and stacks of empty barrels and crates were piled up in the alleyways. The occasional clump of snow plopped onto the cobbled ground from the rooftops up above.

"Some actual work," Baurus said eventually. "I'll go and knock on a few doors, see what I can rustle up. You go and find the nearest tavern and ask around; people are often more willing to part with information after a few drinks."

"Okay then," Templar answered. "Sounds fun. And what, exactly, should I be asking about?"

"Just rumours. Weird behaviour. Odd-looking strangers. See if any people keep getting mentioned."

_That seems like a long shot, but… _"Fine. Should we meet up in an hour or so? 'Tonight' is passing pretty quickly, so we probably shouldn't take too long." The chapel's bells had sounded nine times just a few minutes ago.

"We'll meet back at the castle," Baurus said. "Next to the entrance, since it's easy to find. Okay?"

"Awesome," Templar said unenthusiastically. "Because I still have this key in my pocket and it's making me nervous."

"Let's hurry up and find the owner then." Baurus turned and began walking back the way they'd come, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold.

_Sigh. We're never going to find anything, are we. _Templar continued onwards, down the street. Light was spilling out from a rough-looking building on the corner, and he could hear people shouting and singing from within. "Might as well try over there," he said to himself.

His sheathed sword slapped against his legs as he walked, past closed shutters and swinging signposts. A dog scampered past, snow spraying up from between its paws, chasing shadows. _This seems like a wild goose chase to me – trying to find one person in a city of ten thousand, when we don't know her name, or even what she looks like. It was took dark to see her face-_

"A coin, sir? A coin for the hungry?"

The voice came from a dark alleyway. A wrinkled face looked up at him from the gloom. "Who're you?" Templar asked.

"Only a beggar. A beggar that's awful hungry on this cold autumn's night…"

He felt pity stir in his heart. The man was old and wearing little more than rags, with a moth-eaten fur cloak wrapped over the top. He did look thin, and sick and tired too. "Tell you what," Templar said. "Answer a few questions, and you'll get some gold."

"Why, I think I could do that, sir," the beggar answered happily. "Questions are easy enough."

"Okay then. It's a bit… vague, but have you seen anyone behaving strangely these past few days? Trying to hide, being paranoid, that sort of thing?" _The Mythic Dawn spies are probably too good at their jobs to be spotted so easily, but you never know._

Templar's new friend thought for a moment, head cocked. "No one's really stood out to me poor old eyes. Murtagh!" he yelled over his shoulder. "You seen anyone acting all furtive-like these days?"

"Nope!" came the reply. "Just that Jorundr guy who tried to steal his girlfriend's money. He was looking very suspicious to me last weekend, I tell you, but the guards caught him not two days ago."

"Fair enough! Murtagh's me mate," the beggar explained, more quietly. "He's better at rememberin' things than me."

"Ah."

"Can you… describe this person you're lookin' for?"

Templar thought for a moment. _What did they look like? Surely I can remember a few details._

_If you say "short blonde hair, wearing a tunic and leggings," go to block 1._

_If you say "brown ponytail, wearing a furred jacket," go to block 2._

* * *

1

"I think she had short hair. Blonde. She was wearing a tunic and leggings too, just plain brown. Though it was pretty dark, it could've been grey or black or just about anything." _Yes, the one that had escaped definitely had blonde hair. And a bloody annoying knife._

"Blonde… blonde… now that I think about it, I did see a lady with yellowed hair poking around earlier today. Over at Jearl's house, she was," the beggar added.

"Jearl?"

"Yeah, Jearl. Don't know her last name. Just came back from down south. This woman, she came around when Jearl wasn't home, if you catch my drift."

"I think I do," Templar said. _Could've just been a burglar, hoping to get lucky. _"Do you know much about Jearl? Or the blonde-haired lady?"

"No, not me. Keeps to herself, that one. We beggars don't have much to do except watch folk go about their bus'ness, but I never saw much of Jearl. She has brown hair, though, I know that much. And a _very _nice fur jacket she likes to wear around. That blonde one I never seen before – new in town, probably. Now" he said, licking his lips. "That's enough questions. How about that coin?"

"Here. You've been more than helpful." Templar plucked a Septim from his money-pouch and flicked it over to the beggar, who caught it like a mousetrap would a mouse. He was careful to conceal the size of the pouch – _after all, I don't want to get robbed. Captain Burd asked us to minimise the bodycount, after all._

"Thank you, kind sir. You've made an old man very happy. Any more questions, just come and find me – Roran's my name, and I live in this here alleyway," he said eagerly.

"I'll keep that in mind," Templar replied. He began walking down the street again. _Well, that was surprisingly useful. 'Jearl'. I'll have to remember that._

_Go to the main story._

* * *

2

"I think she had… brown hair? Pulled back in a ponytail. She had a thick furred jacket on, looked like bear pelt." He'd been able to get a pretty good look at the dead women once the fight was over, and he could remember the hair from earlier. _Pity about the face, though._

"It's getting cold these days, lots of fur jackets around. But brown hair, a fur jacket…" The beggar moved his lips silently, running through names and faces in his head. "There's a few people that fit that description around these parts, though only one of them has been actin' 'strange'."

"Who?"

"Jearl's the name, not sure about the other bit. The – the whassitcalled, the last name. She has brown hair, and a distinctive-lookin' fur coat that she likes to wear. Just came back from a trip down south, she did, and usually keeps to herself. Not very friendly."

"Interesting," Templar said. "That's helpful. Maybe." _Not exactly a rock-solid lead, but…_

"Come to think of it, I saw another woman poking around her house earlier today."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, a short one, blonde hair, she was tapping at the windows and things, being a bit odd. Jearl wasn't home at the time – catch my meaning – but we beggars don't interfere in such matters. Now," the beggar said, smiling hungrily. "How about that gold you mentioned?"

"Here. You've been more than helpful." Templar plucked a Septim from his money-pouch and flicked it over to the beggar, who caught it with fingers like a mudcrab's pincers. He was careful to conceal the size of the pouch – _after all, I don't want to get robbed. That would be awkward._

"Thank you, kind sir. You've made an old man very happy. Any more questions, just come and find me – Roran's my name, and I live in this here alleyway," he said eagerly.

"I'll keep that in mind," Templar replied. He began walking down the street again, towards the tavern at the end. _Well, that was surprisingly useful. 'Jearl'. I'll have to remember that._

_Go to the main story._

* * *

Main Story

Baurus rapped his fist on the wood. _Knock knock knock._ No answer. He walked over the one of the windows, tried peering in. The house was dark; he could make out a few chair-shaped silhouettes within, but not much else. The door was just a big slab of pinewood, firmly locked.

_Moving on. I suppose we may as well continue with this charade. _He was slowly making his way down one of the little streets that wound around the rear of the chapel (which was looming above him right now like a sleeping beast, its windows all bright and yellow in the night).

The Blade walked back down the steps and trudged over to the house on the opposite side of the street. This one was a little larger, and had a zig-zagging double roof, dusted with snow. Its windows were shaped in the classic Bruma style, like a half-closed eyelid. Frost was speckled over its thick log walls. Baurus stepped up onto the wooden verandah and knocked on the door.

It opened soon after. "Yes?"

The dwelling's owner was a tall Imperial woman, with black hair, thick arms and a rather angry face. By far her most defining feature was her voluptuous bosom, which threated to escape from the confines of her nightgown with every heaving breath. Baurus found himself mesmerised by the twin bulges suspended before his nose.

The woman looked him up and down, took in his Blades armour. "You haven't come to ask about Jorundr, have you?" Her expression was guarded.

"What? No."

"Good. I've had enough of that whole affair." She paused for a second. "What _have_ you come for, then?"

"Just asking a few questions about an investigation we're doing."

"Ask, then. We haven't got all night."

_No, we haven't. _"I'm just wondering if any of your neighbours have been acting suspiciously lately. As if they have something to hide."

"Not any more than usual. Terrible people, my neighbours. That Jearl especially, she's the worst."

"Who's 'Jearl?'"

"Lives on the next corner." The woman leaned out from the doorway and pointed in a northerly direction. "She's got someone staying with her. I hear them talking when I walk past. Haven't seen hide nor hair of them myself though, stays indoors all day long. Never says a _word_ to me, no matter how hard I try." There was a pause. "She just came back from a trip south, in fact."

Baurus frowned. "Did she," he said.

* * *

Confusion, warmth, noise, light. The tavern was a stark contrast to the silent wintry world outside, filled with merriment. _And sadness. Mustn't forget the sadness_, Templar thought, glancing over at the gloomy-looking drinkers at the far end of the bar.

"_So, whaddaya think about this Akavir business?" _someone was saying drunkenly._ "Battles in the middle of the Padomaic Ocean, land disputes, more and more taxes to 'ensure the safety of the realm.' It'll be war soon, mark my words."_

"_Better not be – the last time we went to war with Akavir, millions of people died. Remember? Cities burned, armies destroyed. I don't want to see the Imperial City in ruins. Imagine the sight of White-Gold Tower lying shattered in the river. The hills on fire, seared by bursts of dragonflame."_

The tavern was known as the _Jack and Honey,_ according to the sign outside, though Templar couldn't see any jacks around – or honey, for that matter. It was a dingy little building with rough stone walls, and a high roof crossed by wooden beams. There was a hearth in the corner with a thick fat chimney and a roaring fire in the fireplace. The air was filled with smoke and sawdust that made his eyes water.

Tables and chairs were scattered about the central area, covered in plates of food and jugs of ale. Templar sat at one of the empty spaces and tried to warm his numb fingers. _The Blades forge some of the best armour in the country, but can't stitch a glove to save themselves._

He overheard another voice, this one softer. "_I saw thousands of Legionnaires walking around the Imperial City a few days ago," _it murmured._ Apparently there's going to be some sort of naval blockade." _

"_A blockade? Where?"_

"_Who knows? The Elder Council loves their secrets. I can't help but think that if there's going to be a war, wouldn't it be better to, you know… tell us?"_

"_Well, the Akaviri ambassador did come to visit a while back, and they never told us how that went either. Badly, I'm guessing."_

There was a serving bench and bar along one wall, surrounded by barrels of wine stacked almost to the ceiling. A stairway at the far end of the room led to the tavern's upper levels, presumably the sleeping area. Serving girls sauntered about the room, looking for thirsty customers; Templar raised a hand and called one over.

"Could I get a glass of cider, please?"

"Of course! I'll just be a moment."

The girl walked off towards the bar, hips swaying. Templar kept one hand on his purse. _It'd be a shame to lose all of the Mythic Dawn's gold, after all. _His Blades armour hadn't drawn too many glances, even though it was probably seldom seen in the_ Jack and Honey_.

"_So what's happened to Leyawiin? Is it over?"_

"_Yeah, the gate was shut before the drackies could do much. _Huge_ fight apparently, one of my friends was watching it from the hills. He had to run away when one of those lizard-looking daedra got too close - __but the city's safe."_

"_Well, good for them, but I hope Bruma stays out of it. Why would anyone want to invade up here, anyway?" _There was a pause. _"Ha. Everyone thinks wars are heroic and exciting, but now we're actually in one, I can't wait for it to end. "_

The girl soon returned and put his drink on the table. Templar handed over a few coins and took a sip. It was tangy with a bit of fizz, a surprisingly good.

He looked around the room for someone to question. His eyes passed over Redguards, Imperials, Bretons, even a few Argonians – _I thought they couldn't stand the cold? _– before settling on a gaunt, angular Nord who was sitting all alone in a darkened alcove. The man appeared to be relaxing, leaning back against the wall, but was watching the rest of the room with alert, hawk-like eyes.

"_I had family in Kvatch, you know. Now they're all gone. A whole city, just gone. How're they going to rebuild it? I mean, it'll take decades. Tens of thousands dead."_

"_You can't really… imagine it. I've seen the ruins of that city, and even now my brain doesn't want to accept that it's just a big hole in the ground."_

"_Yeah. And nowhere's safe anymore. You might wake up one morning and find an Oblivion Gate outside your window. What then? No wonder everyone's fleeing across the border. We're all just sick and tired and scared. And no one knows what's coming next."_

_Okay, enough with the overhead gossip. Better get on with it. _Templar got up and walked over to the Nord, who looked up as he approached. "Mind if I sit here?" Templar asked, gesturing at the empty bench.

"…No," the Nord said. "Feel free." He had grey, almost white hair, slicked back, and wore a black leather jerkin.

"Thanks." Templar sank down and took another sip of his drink. He waited for the man to talk.

"So," the Nord said after a while. "My name's Ongar. Ongar the World-Weary, they call me."

"Why's that?"

"I've been everywhere, and done everything. But now I've settled down for a good long rest." Ongar smiled.

"You've been… everywhere?" Templar asked sceptically.

"Close enough to it. But what's your name, traveller?"

"Templar."

"'Templar'… isn't that what you call those religious-"

"Those religious knights, yes, yes," Templar answered quickly. "But I'm not one of those. It's just a name."

"Fair enough, Templar. But you should know – there's a reason that people don't sit with me," Ongar said carefully.

"Oh." _I should've guessed_. "Are you… sick, or something?"

"No, nothing like that. I've decided to make this city my resting place, and let's just say I… 'control' things around here. I take care of things for people. Odd jobs, spring cleaning. Cleaning for any season, as it happens. Jobs that the city guard doesn't like."

"Oh. Would these jobs involve... or produce… dead people?"

Ongar's eyes flashed. "I wouldn't say that."

"No, of course not." _So I just sat down with the head of Bruma's mafia. GREAT. _Templar winced.

"But don't be afraid. You're wearing Blades armour, but you have not attempted to arrest me. Therefore, I have no reason to kill you. I could use a decent conversation, so let's talk – because that's what you sat down here for, isn't it?"

"Got it in one." Templar forced a smile. _Well, now that I think about it… this could be kind of fortunate. Ongar probably knows quite a bit about what goes on 'behind closed doors' in Bruma. Something about the Mythic Dawn, perhaps. _"Ongar, could I ask you a question?"

"You can ask," he said graciously. Templar thought there was some subtext there, but wouldn't quite figure out what it was.

"There's a pair of Mythic Dawn spies operating out of Bruma. I'm looking for them."

"Mythic Dawn, you say? I… wouldn't know much about that," the Nord answered.

"Really? I don't believe you," Templar said.

"Believe what you want." Ongar pursed his lips, his eyes hard. _Like orbs of onyx._

Templar decided to try a different tack. "Another question, then. Why do they call this place the _Jack and Honey_?"

"Now _that_ is an interesting tale," Ongar replied. "The man who first built this tavern, his name was Tyrion. He was a dwarf, a grotesque little man, and was known all over the realm as the Imp – for Tyrion was, shall we say, a bit of a rascal. A drunken little lecher, prone to all _manner_ of perversions."

"And?"

"And one day he was feeling especially mischievous. He took his jack and honey, a jackass and some honeycomb into a brothel—"

There was a pause. "Is that it?" Templar said eventually.

"Yes. People have been trying to write a quality finish to that sentence for years, but they always seem to fail."

Templar blinked. "Huh."

"But I have a question for _you_, Templar," the Nord continued. "How would you like to die?"

_I hope this is a hypothetical question. _"In my own bed at the age of eighty," he said quickly. He thought for a moment. "With a belly full of wine and a maiden's mouth around my–"

"Haha. Very good." Ongar grinned, displaying a perfect set of teeth. "I've heard many jokes though, over the past thirty years. You could almost say that I'm weary of them."

Templar soldiered onwards. _Let's change the subject. _"I admire you, Ongar," he said. "A man who's done so much with his life is… someone special. It must've been interesting to try and see something new every day."

"It was. The highest mountains of Skyrim, the lowest depths of the Summer Sea, strange creatures, cities both ruined and full of life… And now I sit around up here, doing something that, frankly, I was always good at. I was often on the wrong side of the law, as a young man…" He trailed off. "And what about you, Templar? What's your life story?"

"Well – it's long, but also quite short at the same time. Can't remember most of it. But, I have to admit, some people do call me the hero of Kvatch." _WHABAM! Played the hero card._

"Do they now."

"Uh… yes?" Templar said. "I closed an Oblivion gate and saved AT LEAST three people from a horrible death.

"Well done you. I suppose the effort was worth it?" The Nord leaned back in his chair with an almost aggressive nonchalance.

"I suppose so. There wasn't really much choice at the time."

"Hm. Strange, isn't it. When we look back at the past, we think over all the choices we could have made differently, but in the moment, we just… make them." Ongar thought for a moment. "The Oblivion plane, though. I must admit, that is one place I have not visited."

"It's not that great, to be honest," Templar said brightly.

"Understatement. That's funny."

_Is it? _He glanced over at the clock on the wall, saw the minutes ticking on. Around him the tavern's patrons continued in their merriment, oblivious to the conversation taking place in the corner. "I'm afraid, Ongar, that I'm going to have to be boring and return to a previous topic," Templar said firmly. "Tell me about the Mythic Dawn in Bruma."

"I don't give out information like that freely, you know," the Nord retorted.

"Look, I _am_ a member of the Blades. I could arrest you right now."

"I don't think you want to do that."

"No, I don't. But I want to know about the Mythic Dawn, and I'm sure you have questions floating around that head of yours. I might be able to answer one of them. So how about we trade?"

"I like trades better than threats." Ongar paused to consider something. "Unless I'm the one making them, of course. But if you tell me something about the Emperor's bastard son, I'll tell you about your Mythic Dawn spies."

_Oh gods, even this guy knows about Martin. Not doing a very good job with secrecy, are we Jauffre. _"I didn't think the Emperor had any other sons," he said aloud.

"Oh don't play coy with me, Templar," Ongar said irritably, "then I won't play coy with you."

"Okay. Fine." _I suppose it won't do much harm. _"He was living as a priest in Kvatch, but I rescued him and took him to Cloud Ruler Temple, where he could be safe."

"What's his name?"

"Martin."

"'Martin Septim'. Interesting…" If Ongar had a beard, he would've stroked it. "Well, Ongar the World-Weary is nothing if not a fair man, and I have a reputation to keep. These Mythic Dawn you're looking for; they're staying in Jearl Saeki's house on Fyrestone Lane, just behind the chapel. They've been fairly active over the past week or so, but I know better than to get involved with those fanatics." Ongar leaned closer. "Nevertheless, I had one of my men keep an eye out, and he said that there's at least two of them, and they communicate using a password."

"What's the password?"

"Kafka on the shore."

_Kafka on the shore… that's an odd phrase. _Templar couldn't recall hearing a password when he'd been watching by the runestones, but they could've easily whispered it without him knowing. "Thank you, Ongar, you've been a great help—"

_BANG!_

The _Jack and Honey's_ door slammed open, candles flickering in the gust of wind. Templar whipped around and saw two men standing in the doorway. One of them was covered in soot and ash, and was pointing back outside. "Fire!" he shouted. "Fire! Jearl's house, it's gone up like a torch! We need some help with the buckets!"

The tavern's guests fell silent. Someone knocked over a tankard of beer, which clattered to the floor.

"Fire?" someone murmured.

"Jearl's house?"

"That's right across from me, that is!"

"When did it start?"

There was a brief spurt of panic. Perhaps a dozen people were hurriedly leaving the tavern, either to help or check on their own homes or simply watch the flames. _Jearl's house. Wasn't that- _Templar glanced back at the Nord, who was smiling.

"There's nothing like a good show to liven up the evening," Ongar said wryly. "Better go and help with that fire; a decent bit of smoke can flush out all _sorts _of vermin."

* * *

_Is _anything_ going to go right tonight? _Templar shouldered his way through the crowd that filled the narrow lane, towards the orange glow of the flames. "Excuse me! Excuse me!" He emerged from the crush and was immediately confronted by a wall of light and heat.

Jearl's house was a simple, single story affair and burning merrily. The sloped roof pine-wood walls were covered in a sheen of fire. The foundation of the hose was made of mortared stone, but that didn't look like it was helping much – the blaze was spreading rapidly and Templar saw flames licking out from behind the shutters, crackling and popping as more and more of the house caught alight. He had to squint to shield his eyes from the heat, felt the acrid taste of smoke fill his mouth.

The city's residents were doing their best to stem the blaze, passing water buckets from person to person and sloshing them on the fire, but every hiss of steam was soon re-lit. It didn't help that most of the water in Bruma was currently in the form of hard, icy snow.

_At least this should put a damper on the Mythic Dawn's plans. Whatever they were. _Templar looked around, trying to figure out his next course of action, before he noticed Baurus standing on the other side of the street.

"Hey! Baurus!" he shouted. "Over here!"

The Blade finally noticed him and jogged over. "You know that this is the house?" he asked.

"Yeah. Looks like our detective work paid off."

"We were lucky. If we'd started looking on the other side of the city, we'd never have found this place."

"You're probably right." Templar thought for a moment. "What do we do now?"

"Watch it burn?" Baurus suggested.

"No."

"Put it out?"

"Nope. What I'm thinking of," Templar hinted, "is basically in between those two suggestions."

The Blade's eyes widened. "Oh, no."

"Well, we have to, don't we? I still really want to know who that last Mythic Dawn spy is, and figure out what the hell they were doing. The answers to both those questions" – Templar pointed – "are in that house."

"That house is _on fire_," Baurus said, not without reason.

"Not completely on fire. The door, for example, is just slightly burnt." Which was true… but wouldn't be true for much longer.

"If you go in there, Templar, I'm not following you," the Blade said warningly. "My duties lie with Martin, and being burnt alive won't help that. The mages' guild will be here soon, they can put it out."

"The mages' guild? They're-"

"-across the other side of Bruma, I know. But with luck, the house will still be standing when they get here."

Templar sighed. "I'm going in, Baurus. Besides, I should be back out in two minutes or less, right? It's only a small house, and I know what I'm looking for."

"Do you?"

"Not really."

Templar began walking towards the house. He imagined Baurus glaring furiously at his back with those tortured eyes of his. "Move aside!" Templar shouted, slipping through the line of bucket-holders. The house loomed before him, logs and planks steaming and burning, smoke curling out from under the eaves. The heat became more intense with every passing second.

"What's he doing?"

"Is he really—"

The onlookers seemed curious about his intentions, but no one tried to stop him. _Probably think I'm crazy (and they'd be right). _The roar of the fire filled his ears, closer and closer. Sweat began to bead his forehead. Finally, he reached the door, which was blackened around the edges but still untouched.

_I don't even have to chop the door down. _Templar fished Jearl's key from his pouch and put it in the lock. It fit perfectly. _Good start. _He put one hand on the door, shouted in pain as the wood burned his skin, and settled for kicking it inwards.

_Why am I doing this? Is it really mere curiosity that's brought me here, or just another f—ked up heroic impulse?_

_I'm guessing the second. Damn you Jauffre, and the Emperor, and Martin, and my stupid, stupid brain—_

Fire. Flames. Templar stepped inside. He winced as a roof-beam crashed into the floor in a blaze of sparks and embers. _Okay, get your bearings. Is there someone still in the house? Any suspicious documents lying around that preferably aren't on fire? _The air shimmered with heat, and the flames were so bright it was like looking through a yellow fog.

It appeared that the house was just a single square room, serving as a kitchen, a bedroom and a living space. The walls dripped with fire. There was a fireplace in the corner, next to a sleeping alcove, and a couple of chairs and tables in the middle… a carpet, too, that somehow wasn't alight, still smouldering at the edges. _Hot hot hot. Eyes burning, body on fire. _Templar could just imagine the heat rising from the stone floor, flowing up through his boots and into his feet-

There was a whoomph to his left as a bottle exploded. He ducked on instinct and felt something ping into his helmet. He coughed, and walked a little further into the house.

_SLAM!_ Templar heard the door shut behind him, cutting off the distant shouts of the crowd, leaving only the crackle of burning timber. _Cutting off all my fresh air, too._ He saw a chest by the far wall but it seemed to be empty.

_Where would a spy hide something? _There was cupboard next to the chest. Templar staggered over to it and looked inside, but it held only clothes. He looked around, back towards the entrance. _Think, think._ The only other things in the room were a slightly incongruous watermelon lying on the floor and a…

…_trapdoor_. Half-visible from under the carpet. He jogged over to it, pushing through the haze. _Crack!_ He looked up, jumped backwards as another part of the roof came crashing down, trailing sparks. Flames burst outwards as it hit the floor, licking at his legs. Then another, behind him, a timber warped from its moorings by sheer heat.

_It won't do much good if the roof falls in on me. _Templar pulled out his sword and hooked it under the trapdoor's handle, praying for it to be unlocked.

It was. He pulled it upwards, revealing a ladder that led down into some sort of basement. Templar dropped through the hole, sword in hand, catching onto the top rung of the ladder and then falling to the ground. Down here there was a distinct lack of flames, _thank the gods-_

There was someone in the basement. She had her back turned to him, but Templar could see that short blonde hair he recognised from earlier, those same clothes. She even still had a bloodstain splotched around her shoulder from where Templar's sword had pierced it.

_We meet again._

The spy hadn't noticed him, thanks to the roar of the inferno up above. She walked delicately over to a table at the other end of the basement. By then Templar had ducked into a niche in the left hand wall, containing another bed and several barrels of food.

He heard her sigh. There was the sound of moving steel, followed by a small, organic sort of noise, and a cough.

_CRAAAASSHH!..._ There was an explosion of sound from up above as the roof finally gave way. Burning planks and beams tumbled down onto the stone foundations in a cloud of fire and smoke. The trapdoor was still open and a few splinters of burning wood and ash fell through the hole.

Down in the cellar, the world was much quieter. The spy was still standing by the table, reading something; Templar could hear the parchment crackling. She hadn't given the collapse of the roof a second glance, which led him to believe that there was another way out of the house. _Another way out. Perhaps I can surprise Baurus by not dying. _Templar shook his head. He had to _concentrate. _

He ran towards the agent and made a leap.

It seemed to him that he stayed in the air a long time. There was the woman, the same knife hanging from her belt. There was the fire, slowly lighting up the cellar. And Templar, airborne, armed with a sword.

The spy jerked aside with surprising speed, trying to tug her blade out again. Templar fell against a sack leaning up against the wall, and had the sense to roll away immediately. The knife stabbed down beside him, spilling straw onto the floor.

Like the house that had once stood above, the walls of the cellar had been made from thick wooden logs nailed together, above a flat stone floor. Fire was beginning to crackle in the corner nearest to the trapdoor, and heat was radiating from the ceiling above. Thick black smoke began to blossom, surrounding the combatants in a spreading cloud.

Templar circled around a toppled shelf, watching the spy intently.

"You're admirably persistent," she said softly. Her face was streaked with soot.

Templar concentrated on avoiding the sword.

"But you're also making a grave mistake. Dagon is the true god, and you should not be trying to STOP him-"

She slashed at him. Templar dodged and continued circling, sword at the ready.

"The time has come for humanity to step into Paradise." The spy jabbed, but Templar had been watching her eyes and swayed away in time. Her face was curiously emotionless, for someone having a knife-fight in a burning building.

"You must understand that history needs its butchers as well as its shepherds—"

Templar darted sideways through the haze-filled cellar, trying to get to the parchment the agent had been reading. She lurched after him and her blade sliced Templar on the back of the leg. He sprawled onto the desk in the corner, arrows skittering from his quiver.

The woman circled to find a stabbing point. She drew back the knife…

Templar's sword came up. He managed to hit her hand with the flat of the blade, and the smack of steel knocked the knife right out of the agent's grasp. Templar pulled himself upright as though in a dream, following the curve of the stroke.

This time the sword whispered through the air edge-first, leaving hazy smoke roiling and coiling behind it. The tip caught her across the neck. Behind Templar white smoke tumbled through the flame-covered trapdoor, which looked like a doorway to Oblivion.

Then she was up and running. Templar noticed that there was a door at the end of the cellar, hidden behind a hanging tapestry. "Hey!" He began chasing after her, feet slipping on the stone floor. Cloth twisted as she whipped the door open and tumbled through, kicking it shut behind her.

Templar's momentum carried him into the door face-first. He tumbled to the ground in a jumble of armoured limbs.

_Argh, bloody hell. Get up get up get up._ He pushed himself to his feet with a great hacking cough. Fire was spreading over the cellar walls, great orange sheets of it, billowing smoke. Templar's head was enveloped in a suffocating fog of non-thought: raw skin, the taste of ash, tear-filled eyes. _Need to get OUT of here._ He glanced over at the table, saw a piece of folded parchment lying on top marked with a red seal, and picked it up with sweaty fingers.

'_Jearl, the Master was pleased to hear of your activities outside of Leyawiin. The more gates we open, the nearer we are from the glorious cleansing.'_

"Blah blah blah blah." Templar scanned the document as quickly as he could. The ladder upwards had been enveloped in fire, and red-hot cinders were floating across the floor. He flapped his hand at one that came too close.

_'The Master has chosen you and Saveri for a most crucial mission, a sign of your advancement through the ranks of the chosen. We have learned that the Septim heir has gone to ground at Cloud Ruler Temple, the lair of the accursed Blades. The Master has made its destruction a top priority of the Order, and Lord Dagon has committed whatever resources are required._

_These resources include several sets of replica Blades armour, with which to infiltrate the heir's guard; poison vials to place in Cloud Ruler's food supply; and two powerful mages from our Morrowind chapters, who may perform a magical assault from afar. Which of these options is chosen is your domain, but the Master expects this attack to occur on the night of Hearthfire 12._

_With the secondary tunnel completed, you will also be able to get close to Cloud Ruler without being seen. This is vital. The Blades will be expecting an open assault, and are stretched thin due to the events at Leyawiin. If stealth and caution is used to carry out your duties successfully, the Master will be most pleased. _

There was more, but Templar didn't bother reading it.

_A tunnel, poison and a pair of mages. So the plan is that there are three plans, all of which sound freaking scary. And tonight's the night._

_Okay, Templar, you have to stop that last agent from ever getting to Cloud Ruler Temple. You HAVE to, right now, because otherwise there's a very real chance of… _"Don't think, just act," he said aloud. Templar walked over the far wall and ripped down the tapestry, revealing the door behind it. It was locked. He hurriedly pulled out Jearl's key, edging as far away from the advancing flames as he could. The key – _thank fuck – _fit the lock, and he pushed the door open.

The cold air and gloomy darkness beyond was like a double-punch of happiness. Templar took a few breaths of glorious clean air, filling his lungs, felt that coolness on his skin. His armour steamed.

The door opened onto a cave, a high rocky tunnel that stretched away into the darkness, lit only by the occasional lantern. Stalagmites and stalactites dotted every surface, from the smooth stone floor to the undulating ceiling. He shut the door behind him and was enveloped in glorious silence; Templar listened for a moment to see if he could hear the escaping agent, but there was nothing.

_She's only had a thirty-second head start. You can catch up. Start running._

He did, boots slipping on the damp ground. The cave turned left into a smaller fissure, cobwebs stretching from wall to wall, pebbles skittering underfoot. His breath wheezed as he ran, pounding onwards, around a U-turn.

Templar cursed as the cavern started to slope upwards. He passed another lantern, could hear rats chirping somewhere up ahead.

Suddenly, he came to a junction. Two separate tunnels led off to the left and right, both of the dark, virtually indistinguishable. Except…

There was a glint in the left hand passageway; something moving. The sound of breath and footsteps. _There._ Templar followed the noise, forcing himself to run faster, licking his cracked lips. The cavern was still going up, a misshapen rocky tube. The floor was uneven and treacherous, and Templar thought he heard someone trip over, cursing loudly. _I'm catching her._

The ground levelled off, became smoother. He could _see_ her now, running just ahead of him. She threw a glance over her shoulder and put on a new burst of speed. Templar tried to follow but felt his legs tiring, burning up with the effort. _Come on, Templar, you can-_

Suddenly, light burst into the cave. The Mythic Dawn agent had reached the door at the end, had thrown it open. Both of Tamriel's moons had risen outside and Templar could see the spy standing in the exit, silhouetted against the stars.

_No no no, if you lose her now you'll never find her. She'll go on to the Temple and sneak past the Blades and try and kill Martin-_

And then, gloriously, another shape appeared at the end of the cavern. It shouted something, then tackled the agent to the ground, grunting with effort. Something flashed amid the tangle of limbs.

Templar knew that shape. He slowed, still wheezing, and trudged onwards until he finally reached the doorway. He staggered out into the open air, a whole dark world spread out before him.

"My word, Baurus. You have a knack for turning up in the most unexpected places." Templar couldn't help the grin that was plastered across his face. He collapsed to the ground, chuckling happily, lying back on the earthen hillside.

"I could say the same about you. I thought that house collapsed on you," the Blade replied. He was still straddling the Mythic Dawn spy, who was trying to spit in his face.

"Well, it didn't. And I won't even _ask_ how you figured out where this cave was."

Baurus sighed. "It's a long story."

The cave exit lay in a wooded valley somewhere in the Jerall mountains, hidden by a couple of large boulders. Wind whistled through the trees as stars twinkled overhead.

"How's our friend?" Templar asked, pointing at the agent.

"Dying," the Blade replied emotionlessly.

"What?"

"She tried to stab me, so I stabbed her instead."

Templar coughed. "Fair enough. Fair – enough." He blinked, and tried to wipe the soot from his face. "Well, I found a letter that talks all about the Mythic Dawn's plans for Cloud Ruler. We should probably give it to Jauffre, I guess."

"Probably should."

"But at least we thwarted their plans. With both agents dead, they'll never get to chance to attack Martin. It was a good plan, too; did you know that the Mythic Dawn were digging a tunnel under Cloud Ruler?"

"No, I did not. We'll have to get that plugged." Baurus frowned. "Once we find the entrance, that is. Something for tomorrow."

The agent groaned. Templar saw the stab wound in her neck, black blood bubbling out. Baurus still had her pinned beneath his knees, and he stood up, leaving her to lie there on the snowy mountainside.

"Sorry," he said softly.

"What are you saying sorry for?" Templar scoffed. "She tried to kill you. And me. Several times. She was a bit of a bitch, actually."

"I still killed her, Templar. Isn't that something to be sorry about?"

"Usually, yes, but she was going to-"

"Your friend's right, you know," the spy said. She locked eyes with Baurus, blood still leaking from her neck. "I understand… what you mean, but you shouldn't be sorry."

"Why?"

She laughed. Her teeth clenched in pain. "Because – because did you really think that there's only two Mythic Dawn agents in this town?"

"What?" Templar said, dread filling his heart.

"You heard me. There's more than two of us. The strike is still going ahead, even as I lie here. Dying, thanks to you." She laughed again. "I sent some friends off ahead, to make sure you wouldn't meddle with our plans any further. Though burning the house down was a nice thought."

"We didn't burn the—" Templar shook his head. _That's not important._ "How many Mythic Dawn are attacking Cloud Ruler?"

"I don't think I'll tell you. But…"

"_How many_?" Templar snarled, leaning in close. Something stirred, a dark blade in his mind.

The woman ignored him. "…Tonight's the night. So _why _are you standing around talking to me?"

He kicked her, and the agent screamed. It echoed from the hillsides as she died.

_ECHO…_

_Echo…_

_echo..._

* * *

Back at Cloud Ruler Temple, Martin sat in the Great Hall, poring over his books. The Mysterium Xarxes lay open beside him. Captain Steffan and Fortis stood by the door, watching and listening. Waiting.

They didn't even notice the pitch-black shadow that flitted past one of the upstairs windows.


	37. Monsters in the Dark

_Author's Note: 250,000 words is far too many, but there's still much more to come - like some discoveries, for instance.*_

_So yeah. I'm still writing this in the hope that one day it'll be finished and bound together in all its terrible glory. It was certainly nice to slip back into Templar's world again (as always, the actual writing process took less than a week if you ignore all the procrastination – though trying to decipher short, frenzied 'CHUCK THIS IN THE NEXT CHAPTER' notes written half a year ago _was _quite difficult. What, the Blades are all in Leyawiin? Why did I do that? And why have I got a dot point that just says 'chess game?'), and I shall attempt to keep the ridiculous eight month waits to a minimum in the future.  
_

_And of course, Skyrim's out (hooray!). Still haven't played it much, partly because I'm afraid of what it'll do to my study habits. Apparently the main quest is a bit less janky than Oblivion's, but it's probably too late for a switch._

_*Disclaimer: The discoveries are in the next chapter, which got split off from this one because the action scene is about 3,000 words too long and didn't turn out entirely how I wanted it to. Some things never change..._

_EDIT: I do have an excuse (kind of) for not updating. I've been working on an original science fiction novel for a few months now, and told myself I wouldn't write any more fanfiction till I'd finished the first third. That didn't work out, so… here's some fanfiction!_

* * *

Monsters in the Dark

_**Cloud Ruler Road (Northwest of Bruma), the Jerall Mountains, Hearthfire 12 3E433**_

He jogged up the snowy hillside, breath burning in his lungs. Somewhat annoyingly, it had been burning in his lungs for at least the past ten minutes, but _gods-dammit if I'm going to let Baurus get there in front of me._

"Are we – are we there yet?"

"Nope."

Templar grunted incoherently in reply. He glanced forwards and saw the lights of Cloud Ruler Temple flickering in the upper distance, looking no closer than they had five minutes ago. _Dashing through the snooooww, on a one-horse open sleeiigghhh… _He stumbled, gave a large hacking cough. "Oh, my _kingdom_ for a horse."

"You haven't got a kingdom."

"I know! It was hypothetical!" Templar decided to focus back on breathing, since Baurus was living up to his usual standards as a conversational partner.

The path curved left along the edge of the mountain, and upward, always godsdamned upward, winding between ice-slicked boulders and hardy shrubs that were no more than spots in silver in the moonlight. Templar could feel his sweat freezing as soon as it emerged from his pores; there was a slight wind whistling across the hillside, which mixed with the night and frosty chill to create this ungodly essence of coldness.

But his lungs really did feel quite hot; _quite_ hot. _Seriously, if I started breathing actual fire I would not be surprised._

_ And, then, well, at least I'd be warm. _

_ Because right now I am cold._

_ Because it's snowing, in case you needed some clarification._

_ ALWAYS WITH THE SNOW._

His sword slapped against his legs, slush soaked between his toes. His muscles ached. But he kept himself moving, kept sucking down air, kept looking up at those distant fires perched upon the mountaintop, because as the Mythic Dawn spy had said – something bad had been planned for Cloud Ruler temple tonight. Something bad for the Blades, and Jauffre, and the new Emperor-in-waiting. Something that would probably result in a few important people getting killed.

_But not if I have anything to say about it – and, as always, I have many things to say. Many things. _

He ran onwards, pushing through the pain, into the endless night…

* * *

"…is dark, and full of terrors."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just a quote." Martin turned another page of the Xarxes. Steffan shrugged, and got back to guarding. 'Guarding' seemed to involve little more than standing in the corner with a sword, but Martin was glad to have him there regardless – it was always oddly lonely in the great hall at night, as the winds ripped at the walls and the candles flickered low.

_The night is dark and full of terrors_…

_…such as this wonderful book I have here. _

The spread of parchment before him displayed a triangle, drawn in smudged red paint. _Not blood. It's too vibrant for that. _Sprouting from the edges were strange forks and sweeping curves, annotated with rows of tiny runes – daedric runes, sharp and angular, drawn with precise strokes. In the very centre of the triangle was a larger symbol, like an 'M', bordered by a crimson circle. Though the Xarxes had to be thousands of years old, the letters still glowed brightly upon the page.

He smoothed out a crease and made a small note in the margin. These passages seemed important; they described some sort of summoning ritual, a portal to a 'holy realm' that needed 'a trinity of power' to open. Translating the runes was still frustratingly slow, but with every sentence he grew a little more familiar with the ancient language.

"How's the book?" Captain Steffan asked.

"I'm not… entirely sure. Some of it seems useful, but it's extremely hard to interpret. And the writing is tiny, which doesn't help."

"Well, keep at it."

"M-hm." Martin stifled a yawn.

_'Come slow and bring four keys: in my first arm a storm, my second the rush of plague, the third all the tinder, the fourth the very eyes of Padhome (?). Be winnowed the timid shall be at my feet and pray for pardon. Master, master, miasma, mother, master…'_

"Will… will you be alright for a moment? I have to piss."

Martin looked up. "What?"

"I have to piss, and I'd rather not have you watch," the Captain said bluntly.

"Oh. Uh, be my guest."

"Remember, the others are in the eastern wing; they'll come running if you so much as raise your voice—"

"—and if something happens, I stay here. I know the drill."

"Good. See you soon, then." Steffan nodded and tramped out through the western doorway.

Despite himself, Martin began to feel a prickling on the back of his neck as soon as he was alone. Some people seemed to enjoy the stars, the inky darkness that came with the setting sun, but he never had – and he gave into the urge to look over his shoulder, cursing as he did so.

But of course, there was nothing. All the other tables were empty. The stone and plaster walls were silent. The fire in the hearth crackled merrily as it chewed through a couple of thick pine-wood logs, and braziers dangled from the mouths of carved dragons that leapt from the top of every pillar. Hanging from balcony were rows of Akaviri katanas, and he'd been told that each one had been wielded by a Blade, long ago; some of the swords were still dotted with old bloodstains, or nicks and scratches that had never been polished away. _To better remember their struggles, perhaps?_

Sighing, he set the book down onto the carpet by his feet. That was enough for one night; the letters were beginning to flow together on the pages, and he was almost jumping out of his skin every time the wind rattled one the upstairs windows-

_Clunk._

He jumped, turned around.

Of course, there was nothing behind him. It was probably just – just a door banging, or a box falling over. _Except – I know that sound. That's the sound of the doors being locked, when you drop the wooden bar between the handles…_

He walked quickly over to the eastern doorway, pushed against the wood. It didn't budge.

_Hm. That odd-_

_Clunk. Clunk._

The sounds came from behind him. His heart fluttered.

"…Steffan? You there?"

No answer. He glanced behind him again. There was still no one else in the great hall, but unless someone was playing an unusually cruel joke… "Hey! Anyone there? Hey!" His voice sounded nervous. He banged against the door a couple of times, felt it shudder on his hinges.

Martin looked around the hall. It suddenly seemed much darker, more lonely, with shadows pooling in the corners and peeking in through the upper-level windows. He walked quickly past the fireplace and stopped before the western entrance, pulled at the handles until his arms ached, but they were also stuck fast. "Ah, come on." He kicked at it half-heartedly, shivered as he felt the doors press up against the locking bar that had been dropped into place outside.

He strode over to his chair, glanced at the enormous front doors at the other end of the hall. _What's the bet that they'll be locked too? The night is dark…_

_Okay, calm down. Steffan will be back soon, and then you can all have a good laugh. The Blades are in the eastern wing, they'll come running if anything's wrong. Now, just sit down, take a take a moment, and feel how warm that fire is-_

"Hello."

He whirled around. There, standing in the middle of the great hall, was a man – a man in a black cloak. His face was covered with a hood, but Martin could see his breath steaming. _Where did he come from?_

"…Hello?"

The man began running towards him. Something glinted in his left hand as he darted around the chair, awfully quick. Martin began backing away, felt the fire crackling at his back, thought he _reeeallly_ should've started running by now. He lurched to the side with a sudden rush of movement, legs caught in his robes, turning with pure desperation-

Footsteps scraped across the carpet. He got a few strides in before the man was suddenly _there_, a silent black blur. A hand reached out, grabbed his hair roughly. His legs buckled as he was jerked to a stop. He tried to pull away, struggled incoherently against the arm that was holding him there and the other arm that was sweeping down towards his neck – a jagged sliver of grey, too close to dodge, too close to twist away…

_Stay alive._

A sudden burst of clarity.

He grabbed the blade that would've cut his throat and felt the metal slice into his hands. It was like clutching fire. The assassin was at his back, grunting, trying to force the blade down, and they stumbled together awkwardly; he threw his head backwards and felt something crunch, kept his hold on the blade as it vibrated centimetres from his neck. Blood dripped from his fingers, from seared nerves and muscles.

And then, suddenly, he was focusing on the edge, on the little ball of pain in his hands, trying to make it disappear, go away, so that he could stop holding the _knife._

His fingers twitched. The man lurched sideways as he lost his grip on the blade, which was suddenly crumbling, disintegrating, turning to rust as magic flowed through Martin's bloodied fingers. Brown powder scattered across the floor. Then they both staggered into the wall, right next to the flaming hearth, the assassin shouting angrily and backing off to get another weapon, the priest reaching upward for something, finding it, pulling it down in a swirl of firelit silver-

The Akaviri katana slashed across the man's chest. He fell backwards, screamed, clutched at the wound with a spray of arterial blood.

The sword dropped from Martin's hand and clattered upon the stone floor. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily. The assassin writhed upon the carpet, blood still spewing from his chest, but moving less and less with every passing second until…

…he lay still.

Martin shuddered. _Still alive._

_ All that matters._

He absently wiped his hands on his robes and had to suppress a scream as fabric scraped through the cuts. A few small bursts of healing magic fluttered from his palms, almost involuntarily, but it would take more than that to repair them; every time he lifted a finger, pain spasmed from a gashed nerves and muscles. There was even some bone peeking out.

He felt strangely calm as he examined the damage. The magic kept flowing, numbing the pain. The assassin was dead at his feet. He'd almost been dead ten seconds ago himself, but…

The assassin was dead at his feet.

The first person he'd ever killed.

The first person he'd even _hurt , _really (except for that time he'd pushed someone down a stairway as a kid and they'd ended up with a broken arm). _And how do you feel about that? You spend your life healing people, two minutes ago you're complaining about reading a book, and now look what's bloody happening. _

He wasn't sure if he felt disgusted, or afraid, or relieved, or… what. _Sick_, maybe. He stared at the assassin's frozen face, twisted in pain, remembered the feel of the katana as it had cut through flesh. He remembered how he hadn't even thought about it, really, just acted on instinct, but when you got down to it was that really good enough to cut a life in half-

_CRASH!_

A row of the upper windows exploded inwards. Glass showered down. Wind rushed in through the openings, whistling and shrieking, together with another two black-cloaked figures that dropped cat-like to the floor. They stood up in unison, robes pooling around their feet, dusted in snow. One had a pale face, northern; the other was a dark-furred Khajiit.

Martin stood there dumbly, unable to process this new information.

"Are you Martin?" the Khajiit asked.

"Uh… no."

"I think you are," the Khajiit said. His eyes were large and yellow, and glittered in the gloom.

_Well, would you blame me for lying? _It was oddly quiet in the great hall – serene, almost, except for a slight tension in the air. _The promise of violence. _He managed to overcome his surprise, knelt down, picked up the katana again with the tips of his injured fingers. Blood covered the hilt.

The other man spoke up. "Put away the sword."

"No."

"Fair enough."

The two assassins began advancing towards him, slowly, matching strides. "I see you've already met James," the Khajiit said.

"I… I guess so…" He glanced at the body lying by the fireplace, then at the locked eastern entrance; perhaps if he could reach it he could call for help again, _since I don't fancy my chances. _"Why are you here?" he asked nervously.

"Because we are the Mythic Dawn, and you must die if the world is to ascend to Paradise – but if you are asking about why we are _here_, at this very moment…" The Khajiit sniffed. "Poison?"

"Too unreliable," his partner replied.

"An arrow?"

"Possibly not fatal."

"Magic?"

"Inefficient."

"But a knife… with a knife, you know you've done the deed."

Snowflakes began to pass through the broken windows. They fell lazily through the air, melting as they touched the floor. Martin had managed to edge over to the eastern doorway and he tensed his muscles, got ready to slam it with his boot and shout louder than he ever had—

_Clunk. _

"Ahhhh…"

The scream died in his throat as the door suddenly slid open. On the other side was a mass of bodies – four Blades and two of the Mythic Dawn, swords clashing, unable to get much leverage in the narrow corridor. Steffan had thrown the locking bar away and pulled the door open; he saw Martin standing there and pushed him aside, rushed into the great hall with his katana at the ready. _About time. _Another soon followed, Achille it looked like, and took his place by his Captain's side.

"You alright?" Steffan asked breathlessly.

"Not really, no," Martin muttered.

"Sorry about all this. It was gods-damned stupid—"

"I'm just glad you're here." He took cover next to the doorway, slightly bewildered, the katana hanging limp in his hand (which stung more with every passing second, until every thought had to pass through a haze of pain). The Captain yelled over his shoulder – "Ferrum! Get the Emperor out of here! He's hurt!" – then exchanged a glance with Achille and started advancing towards the two assassins.

The Khajiit backed away a little, eyes focused on the Blades. His companion began moving to the left, still trying to get towards Martin. Someone shouted from the corridor in pain or triumph as the last attacker in the hallway was struck down and fell.

Then the Khajiit shook his head. "I think plan B is in order," he murmured.

"No matter. Magic, then?"

"Indeed. Inefficient, but…" He pulled a small scroll from the pocket of his cloak; then he darted towards the fireplace and threw it into the flames.

Martin felt a shock of realisation. He'd seen a scroll like that before, sealed with a scarlet cross, and scrolls like that were quite bad things.

Suddenly, a bright flash of light exploded from the hearth, blinding everyone, searing sparks into his brain. Martin recoiled on instinct, heard someone shout. Metal clanged. As his vision returned he saw a cloud of smoke blossom from the fireplace, thick and black, flowing almost as if it was alive – clumping together, solidifying, forming some sort of shape in the chilly air. Turning into…

_…turning into what?_

Another flash.

And suddenly, there was some – _thing_ standing before the fireplace. Something large, and angry, and very much alive.

It had far too many legs for Martin's liking.

* * *

Templar trudged onwards, pushing through the snow. His armour weighed him down and chafed at every exposed bit of skin. His legs felt like lead; every step made his knees ache. He'd long ago stopped trying to breathe evenly, and had settled for gulping as much air as he could. But it was never enough. _Going down the mountain is fine, but going UP the friggin' thing… _Baurus was still jogging along ahead of him with gritted teeth.

"Are we there – are we there yet?"

"No."

"…How 'bout now."

"Shut up. Less talking, more – more walking."

They rounded a rocky outcropping and suddenly the entire forest was spread out before them – rows upon rows of dark pine trees, carpeting the slopes far below. The path continued along the side of the mountain, circling around boulders and chasms, rising higher, until it finally ended at the walls of Cloud Ruler temple. _Why did they have to build a stronghold perched on top of a bloody mountain? It's defensible, sure, but did practicality ever come into the discussion?_

Templar could feel a stich forming in his chest, a sharp stabbing pain that came with every burning breath. The next section of the path was steeper, and he had to stop himself from going down onto his hands and knees; _that'll just make it worse. Come on, you're almost there. _Wind tore at his hair, and at the few patches of grass that still grew among the rocks.

Suddenly, a strong gust swept along the mountainside. Baurus was pushed off balance, tripped, fell to his knees. Templar stumbled backwards and had to brace himself against the ground. As his hands disappeared into a foot of fresh snow, he realised that he was so very, very tired…

The wind passed.

"Come on. Let's go." Baurus clambered to his feet.

"Yeah, yeah. Just give me a second."

"We don't want to get caught out here overnight."

"I know." Templar groaned, tried to push himself up… and failed miserably. He collapsed onto the ground, panting and shivering. His legs seemed to have gone from lead to jelly.

"Get up."

"I will. You – you go on ahead. I, I can't—"

Baurus glared at him for a moment. Then he sighed and leaned forwards, hands popped against his knees; he looked utterly exhausted. "Okay. Two minutes."

"Thank Akatosh."

"…Two minutes."

"I heard you the first time."

* * *

The beast that had just materialised in the great hall was a dreugh, Martin thought distantly. _Dreugh: An amphibious, tropical crustacean. Dreughs are carnivorous creatures with aggressive territorial tendencies. Though relatively uncommon in Cyrodiil, they are occasionally found in swampy areas within the Blackwood region. In addition, the dreugh is a relatively intelligent animal, capable of primitive communication, and the wax found in their shells has several minor magical properties._

The dreugh hissed, looked around the room. Light glinted from its carapace as the last vestiges of smoke curled up towards the ceiling. It backed away a little from the fireplace.

_Dreughs have six segmented legs, two clawed, muscular forearms, and an additional pair of thin, single-clawed limbs that emerge from their shoulders. The dreugh's upper body is humanoid, and merges with an insectoid horizontally-held lower thorax. Most of the body is covered a bony exoskeleton. The head is cone-shaped, with a wide mouth, sharp teeth and mandibles, and several fin-like appendages mounted upon the skull. The largest males can grow up to two metres in height and three metres in length, and can weigh as much as an ogre._

Unfortunately for him, the Khajiit was closest to the beast. The dreugh jerked forwards, blindingly fast, picked him up with one thick claw and threw him against the far wall – so hard that his skull cracked as he hit. There was an awful _crunch_ing sound. He fell to the ground, limp and bloody, but the other assassin was quicker and had already clambered up onto the nearest balcony; a moment later he leapt out through one of the broken windows.

Then the dreugh turned its attention to the Blades. Steffan and Achille began backing away from the creature, towards the western corridor. "Martin! Get over here!" Steffan hissed. "We'll try and lead it out, or – or away, or something!"

He was only too happy to oblige. He ran over to the doorway and was pulled inside by waiting arms; there were two Blades already in the corridor, Ferrum and Jena, and scratches all over the walls from where their swords had bounced off the wood. A pair of dead Mythic Dawn lay upon the floor.

"My lord. Are you hurt?" Jena asked.

He held up his hands wordlessly. Jena winced. "Okay. Well, we're going to hole up someplace safe, the armoury maybe until we figure out what's going on…"

In the great hall, the dreugh chittered loudly and clicked its mandibles. Martin heard it scuttling on the stone, rapid-fire, like hail on a roof.

"What's it doing?" Ferrum whispered.

"Looking for something else to kill, probably," Jena replied. "They're vicious beasts when in unfamiliar territory."

"Oh, so you're a biologist are you?"

"Shush. I think a more relevant question is 'can we kill it?'"

"Well, can we?" Ferrum asked.

There was a pause. Jena crept up to the doorway and glanced out. "…I don't know… Wait. It's coming closer. Where's the Captain?—"

"Jena, run! EVERYBODY RUN!" Steffan cannoned through the open doorway at full pelt, sword in hand, closely followed by Achille, closely followed by a thumping, shrieking blur—

Jena took his hand and jerked him forwards. He caught the barest glimpse of the dreugh as it squeezed into the hallway – front legs ripping the door off its rails, throwing it away with an almightily _crack _– and then he was running, stumbling over the wooden floorboards and paper-screen walls. Ferrum pushed him along from behind and they turned right at the end of the corridor, leaping down the stone steps that led towards the library. Achille tried to hold the dreugh off as it came skidding around the corner and took a few vicious swings at it with his katana; the beast lashed back with its claws and gouged a deep slash in his breastplate, sending him tumbling down the steps in a clatter of armour.

"Just stay out of its way!" Steffan shouted. "We have to GET OUTSIDE!" The rest of them sprinted into the library, keeping to the outside wall, ran past the shelves of books towards the corridor at the other end. Achille stumbled in a couple of seconds later, clutching his stomach, winded, threw himself aside as the dreugh _rushed_ forwards into the small stone room, its head almost scraping against the low ceiling, screaming like a banshee, legs skittering. It was only a couple of metres behind the Captain when it reached out and swept one of its arms in a wide slashing arc, ripping through paper screen partitions and knocking a lantern from the ceiling, which splashed against the wall in a burst of flames. Martin felt the heat as he disappeared into the far corridor.

_I hope the books are okay._

_ Gods, what am I thinking. I hope the _people_ are okay. I hope I don't get stabbed in the back by a stupidly large swamp monster—_

"Why is it so bloody angry?" Jena asked breathlessly. "Where's Achille? Where are we running to?"

"One don't know, two hiding in a corner hopefully, and three just – just far away!" Ferrum retorted. The world was a blur as they ran down the passage. Martin tried to keep up as Jena pounded up the stairs at the end, fuelled by adrenalin. They emerged into the western wing of the temple; the barracks and kitchen were to the right, the Emperor's and grandmaster's chambers to the left, up another flight of steps.

"Where to now?"

"Barracks," Steffan said tersely. "Then we can get to the courtyard and have some room to move, stop this thing from tearing up— FUCK!"

A black-cloaked figure materialised from behind the barracks door and kicked Steffan in the chest – the last remaining assassin. The Captain was knocked flat, his sword flying from his grip, and was about to get a knife through the chest when Ferrum rushed forward and tackled the assassin to the ground. "Jena, take him and go!"

The Blade nodded. "Martin, come on!" She led the priest in the opposite direction, away from the assassin and the dreugh (which was still hissing and clacking somewhere behind them – _perhaps it was distracted by the fire; swamp creatures probably don't like fire, right?_) and everything else, up the stairs to the Temple's second level. They turned the corner, climbed another few steps, then reached the long hallway that ran above the barracks. Decorative wooden panels jutted from the walls, carved in repeating semicircles almost like fish scales. A couple of candelabras hung from the ceiling, illuminating pale plaster and faded carpet. Martin's and Jauffre's bedchambers were at the end of the hall, next to a meditation chamber that overlooked the mountainside.

After a moment's thought, Jena pulled him over to the meditation room. She opened the door cautiously, checked inside. _No more surprises_.

Inside the chamber it was almost bare – just a small square room with a bench at the far end, right in front of a wide, rough-etched window. Now it was dark and featureless, but during the day it revealed a spectacular view of the forests and lands below.

"There isn't exactly anywhere to hide in here," Martin muttered.

"No. But if we're going to be cornered, I'd rather it was in a room with a window." Jena smiled grimly. "Besides, I'm hoping it won't fit through the door."

"It probably could if it ducked."

"…Ever the optimist."

"Well. It's true." _A pessimist is just an optimist with all the facts._

Jena took off her helmet for a second, ran a hand through her shoulder-length black hair. Her pale skin was flushed with sweat. "With any luck, it followed the others instead of us. Horrible thing to say, but then at least we have a chance of—"

_Click-clack. Click-clack. _

Jena immediately pushed him into the corner and then pressed up against the wall next to the door, so that they wouldn't be seen by anything walking past the opening. She reached out and pushed the door shut as quietly as she could.

_Click._

Darkness.

The only light came from under the doorframe, a little golden triangle that illuminated the barest hint of stone. Martin focused on it as hard as he could.

_Click-clack. _The claw-steps were getting louder. _Click-clack. Click click click-_

Then, a shaft of shadow swept across the light underneath the doorway – a leg, passing through the firelight. Then another, then another, which…

…stopped.

_Click._

The dreugh chittered, very close. Martin held his breath. He imagined the beast leaning down, nostrils flaring, imagined a claw suddenly ripping through the wood – but all was still.

And still.

And still. The dreugh just… stood there, it seemed, perhaps testing the air for any scent of its prey. With every second Martin's heart beat a little faster, thumping against the cold stone at his back. It reminded him of Kvatch – cowering behind a doorway, running from the fire, when the night itself had come alive with screams and monsters in the dark. _Now you are an Emperor, soon to be a ruler of millions, and does it feel any different? No. You're still scared. You're still afraid of death. You're still blind. If anything, it's even _worse.

There was a rattle on the other side of the door.

Then, suddenly, the clicking started up again; the shadows moved on, leaving that wonderful golden light intact. _Click-clack-click-clack-click-clack. _The footsteps began to fade as the dreugh moved down the hallway, and stopped abruptly as it passed from hearing.

Martin shivered and breathed out slowly. Jena was just a murky shape beside him. They waited together in the small stone room, ears straining for the slightest sound, watching that little triangle of light.

He didn't know how long they stood there – ten seconds? A minute? Two? – but eventually, Jena murmured, "Is it gone?"

Martin shrugged, still too scared to speak, realised too late she couldn't see him. Jena sheathed her sword regardless and reached out for the doorhandle. "Wish me luck."

She turned the handle slowly and pushed the door open, just a sliver. Light flooded into the meditation chamber, made them both shield their eyes as Jena stuck her head into the hallway and peeked out—

_SCRICK!_

A shoulder-mounted claw stabbed through Jena's breastplate. The tip emerged from her back, wickedly sharp, covered in torn flesh. It lifted her up into the air like a butcher's meat hook, and the Blade was so surprised that she wasn't even screaming.

And that was how she died – staring vacantly, arms limp, a ragged hole punched neatly through her chest.

Martin just stared. The dreugh whipped its arm back and Jena came sliding off the end, dropped to the floor with a dull _thump_. It stepped into view from where it had stayed hidden a couple of metres down the hallway. The dreugh hissed, and Martin noted that yes, it probably_ could_ fit through the doorway if it moved just right.

Then self-preservation kicked in and he slammed the door shut, retreated away from it as fast as he could until he had his back to the window at the other end of the room.

_ THUNK. _A claw punched through the doorway, then another and the wooden boards basically disintegrated under the onslaught. The dreugh leant forwards, stuck its head through the gaps, lifted its six legs so that it could squeeze into the meditation chamber one chitinous centimetre at a time. Martin tried to back up further, realised he couldn't. The glass felt awfully hard. It was probably too late to break the window; too late for Templar-style last minute heroics. He stared at the advancing dreugh, frozen, hyperventilating, watched it scrabble across the stone with dark black talons that glinted with malice. It was so close that he could smell its breath, feel the wind from his claws.

He sank down to the floor. A dozen thoughts rushed through his mind all at once, all useless.

_I can't save my people, I can't save my city, and when it all comes down to it, I can't even save myself. Is this how it ends? Is this _thing _so desperate to kill me? I am the Emperor of Tamriel, and yet, in this moment, I am utterly… powerless. _

_ There's probably some irony in that._

_ Don't be afraid._

He looked away, knees pressed up against his chest.

_ And…_

_ Don't give up._

_ Never, ever give up._

_ Didn't someone tell you that, long ago? _

_ But as you said, it's probably too late for any last minute heroics—_

Suddenly, a shape appeared in the doorway behind the struggling dreugh. It raised its sword and stabbed down hard, aiming for a gap in the beast's carapace. Sharp steel pierced deep into flesh and the beast screamed in shock. It recoiled and tried to back out of the meditation chamber, turning to face the new threat. Martin stood up. Ferrum took his sword out and stabbed again. The dreugh shrieked, slashed wildly with its two shoulder-mounted claws. Ferrum ducked and backed away quickly, running off down the corridor then down the stairs, the dreugh pursuing him in a charge of pain and fury.

"Lead it over here!" Steffan shouted distantly. "Is Martin alright? Is Jena with him?"

"He's okay, I think, but Jena, she's— argh, come on! Try and get around…"

The voices faded away again. Martin staggered, dizzy for a moment, and knocked his head against the window; the sudden ache jolted through his mind. _Forget your self-pity and THINK_. He ran over to where Jena was lying in the hallway and bent down over her, laid a hand under her chin.

And felt a pulse.

Faint, definitely there, but not for long if the pool of blood around her was anything to go by. The dreugh had stabbed her just beneath the right breast and probably punctured a lung. Martin summoned up all the strength he had left in him – looked at her frozen, shocked face and tried to imagine it smiling once more – and let it flow into that smooth blue sensation, let it build up in his chest and flow out through his open arms. _At least you can do one good thing…_

Martin's vision darkened. His shoulders slumped at the sudden drain of willpower. He gasped, forced himself to stay upright. The magic kept flowing, twisting, out of one heart and into another… and as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, an azure haze materialised above the carpet. It settled around the Blade's body, pulsing gently in the light.

The priest took a breath, and hoped against hope that it would be enough to keep her alive.

Then he ran off down the stairs, following the sounds of combat from below.

* * *

They were up high now, _really_ high. Close enough to touch the stars. The lights of Bruma glittered in behind them in the night, deceptively close, and Cloud Ruler Temple was nearby too – just half a kilometre ahead, standing tall upon its small rocky plateau.

Templar ran with renewed strength, drawn on by the lanterns glowing brightly upon its battlements. That two-minute rest had done him a world of good; that, and the fact that he'd decided to strip off his armour and leave it lying in the snow three-quarters of the way up the mountain. "Almost there," he muttered under his breath.

"Almost there," Baurus echoed.

…_But surely the Mythic Dawn got a huge head start on us? Wouldn't it be funny-slash-terrible if we were two hours too late?_

_Urgh, don't think about that._ Templar pounded along the path, feeling his feet almost fly off the tight, hard-packed snow. The air misted ahead of him, cold and clammy, clinging to the ground. _A couple more crests, a few more turns, past that dead tree and then you're there—_

_"KRREEEAAAARRGGHH!..."_

Suddenly, a scream echoed out over the mountaintop – well, not really a scream but more like a furious monstrous _roar, _earsplittingly loud. It didn't sound human, and Templar wasn't quite sure if that was good or bad. _Probably both._

"What was _that_?" Baurus exclaimed.

"No idea. But we should probably run faster."

"Yeah, look – there's something moving up on the walls."

Templar squinted past the Blade's outstretched finger, and could just see a group of tiny black silhouettes running up and down the battlements. A couple of them seemed to be holding torches; he could hear faint shouting above the blood that rushed through his ears.

_Okay, here we go. Sprint sprint sprint sprint SPRINT—_

* * *

Wind, cold, snow. Martin burst out into the courtyard and was immediately assaulted by the night-time chill. To his left was the pagoda-like structure that sheltered the main entrance; to his right, the thick temple walls curved out in a wide semicircle. In front of him, the western wing of the temple rose into the night. A couple of lanterns provided spots of brightness to focus on, illuminating the icy stone courtyard, the twin patches of grass, the wide stairway that led down the lower front gates.

"It doesn't like fire! USE YOUR TORCHES!"

Steffan and Achille held torches in their hands like swords, swiping them back and forth, trailing sparks. The dreugh scuttled back and forth nervously between them, hissing and snarling, blood leaking from the wounds in its carapace. Ferrum was dancing around in front of it, acting like bait, trying to—

"Lead it towards the edge! We can push it off!"

Ferrum backed towards the eastern wall. His katana lay discarded on the ground, not much use when facing the dreugh from the front. The beast followed him as the other two Blades forced it along from behind. It shrank away from the fire, its humanoid upper body reflecting the light.

Martin grabbed a torch from the nearest wall and began walking towards the dreugh. He knew that the eastern wall of the temple stood right on top of a long drop, almost a cliff – a sheer jagged rock-face that ran a hundred metres down the mountain. If they could get the beast to fall off the edge…

The dreugh suddenly darted forwards, sensing the threat, swiped at Achille again with one arm. He tried to dive away but his injuries made him a millisecond too slow; it caught the Blade on the shoulder and sent him tumbling. Martin rushed forward instinctively to fill the gap, cutting the dreugh off. _So apparently being Emperor involves taming dangerous animals. If I'd known that, I would've paid more attention to Sister Sarassri and her troll shelter–_

Captain Steffan shouted and leapt forwards and the dreugh recoiled a little more. Ferrum tried to get its attention and ran along the edge of the wall, leading it closer to the waist-high battlements. Claws and footsteps clicked against the stone. Martin gripped his torch tightly, held it out in front, stared at the creature with watchful eyes. His fingers throbbed with suppressed pain. He abruptly realised that he hadn't seen Grandmaster Jauffre through all of this (hadn't seen him for hours, actually), and wondered briefly where the old man was.

But then, suddenly, as the two torch-bearers advanced – the dreugh found itself backed up against the edge. It screamed in frustration and lashed out furiously. Ferrum ran out of the way and found another lantern, pulled it off its hook. Martin swallowed and braced himself, held his ground, swiped the torch threateningly.

_And so this night is almost over._

_ Almost. __You've been a lot of trouble for a summoned beast, Mr Dreugh._

Then the dreugh rushed forwards once again, and for the second time that night his thoughts were perfectly clear – just focused on the seconds ahead. _Stay alive._

* * *

_The gates are open – that's a bad sign_, Templar thought as he ran past the big wooden doors. _The guards aren't here_, he through as he sprinted up the long stairway to the upper courtyard, desperate for a glimpse of… anyone. He ran upwards, Baurus two metres ahead, running, running, clambering up to the top.

Templar reached the courtyard, and saw…

The familiar slanted rooves of Cloud Ruler Temple, the grand pillars at the entrance and the tall watchtowers behind.

Steffan and Ferrum, standing upon the eastern wall, peering over the edge with torches in their hands.

Martin, pale and bloody, looking on determinedly, robes covered in grime.

Achille lying on the stone, clutching his side.

And the shadow of a beast, clawed, six-legged, the barest glimpse of it as it tumbled from the battlements and down the cliff-like mountainside, shrieking all the way.

_Thump._

The shrieking stopped.

As the last echoes faded from the air, the Blades and their Emperor turned to look at the new arrivals. There was a bit of an awkward moment as people fell silent, trying to recover their breath and general levels of sanity. Steffan sheathed his weapon, walked away from the perilous drop as Ferrum jogged towards the temple doors.

"I guess – we were too late – for the party?..." Templar asked brightly, panting desperately, feeling rather like he should be throwing up.

"If by 'party' you mean 'Mythic Dawn attack,' then yes. You were late. Just missed it, actually," Steffan said grimly.

"You… knew it was coming?" Martin added.

"Yep, we did. Long story." Templar coughed, trailed off. He squinted at the priest, trying to figure out if he was unhurt. _Because, Martin, you are the key to this whole f—cking thing and I don't want you becoming dead. Also, I have no idea what just happened._

"Ha. It's been a long story here, too," the priest replied.

A moment of calm. Templar imagined his bed in the barracks, and thought that falling into it would feel mighty good right now. _Sleep now. Talk tomorrow._

"…But you're alive?"

"Yes, Templar, I am very much alive."

"Well, thank fuck for that."


End file.
